


The Tip of the Knife

by SpadesAndAces105



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Dark Loki (Marvel), Dark Tony Stark, Eventual Frostiron, F/M, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sweeney Todd references?, Tony is a new man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpadesAndAces105/pseuds/SpadesAndAces105
Summary: Tony Stark had returned from Afghanistan three months ago, broken, scarred, and in pain. He is just trying to piece his life together and keep a semblance of normal, but his recurring nightmares won’t ever let him forget what happened.So when he is accused of being insane and trying to kill a woman, he is just done. Like seriously? Why him?Betrayal is everywhere, and it seems like it is attracted to Tony. He is forced to become someone new in order to deal with the pain. On his journey, he meets new people who help him get his revenge. In return, he will help them with their own.(This story is heavily influenced by Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street)Cross posted on FF.net
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. The Beginning of a New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark’s beginning and end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fanfiction that I’m ever posting, so please feel free to give me feedback. I have gone over this so many times already, but it always feels like it could be better. 
> 
> Anyways, later on in the story there might be graphic scenes, depending on how sensitive you are to that sort of stuff, just a warning!

_He was running. Off in the distance he heard a cluster of unidentifiable shouts. His chest was on fire, but when he looked down at it all he saw was his bare skin. Blinking repeatedly, he tried to clear the fuzziness from his eyes, but all he did was worsen the haze. Everything blurred together, and the only constant was the ghost-like pain in his chest and the weird noises in the distance. He might have fallen on his knees, but even that was unclear. The pain would not stop, even when he pressed his entire palm onto his chest, and he was thoroughly confused on what was going on. The noises grew louder, starting to pierce his already broken thoughts, and there was a clatter, as if something fell. His vision cleared for a moment, and he realized that there was an iron mask laying at his feet, splintered and shattered into many pieces. The fire in his chest increased tenfold and he had to close his eyes to try and alleviate it. New noises were sounding, these ones even farther away but somehow clearer than the others. Becoming clearer and clearer, these sounds started to erase the jagged pain from his chest, making his thoughts clearer until..._

Tony’s consciousness saved him. He shot up in his bed, his entire body trembling and covered in sweat. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the same noises that he had been hearing at the end of his dream, and recognized them as Jarvis’ voice. Inhaling deeply, Tony opened his eyes slowly, still trying to shake off the remaining pieces of his dream. Or rather, nightmare. He had been having frequent nightmares since his... stay in Afghanistan, and obviously tonight was not deviating from the pattern. 

Tony swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, heading to his bathroom while trying to make sense of the latest nightmare. He had never had one this unclear before, and it was unsettling. Splashing water from the sink on his face, Tony tried to piece together the remnants of the dream that still drifted through his head, and only ended up with a memory of a mask and a horrible pain in his chest. His hand fluttered up to his chest, touching the giant red scar there that always found a way of prompting him to remember his captivity. Even his subconscious was now reminding him of how close he had been to death only three months prior. Jaw trembling, Tony looked at the mirror, seeing for the first time his disheveled appearance. His hair was a mess, his entire body soaked, and his eyes had huge dark circles under them. Groaning, Tony took his hand away from his scar and brushed it through his unruly hair, heading back out into his bedroom. 

“Jarvis, what time is it?”

“ _As I said when you woke, it is 5:46 in the morning. Ms. Potts has been awake for an hour at least, and she is now waiting for you in the living room of the mansion.”_

Tony rolled his eyes at his AI but still said, “Got it, chief. Tell her I’ll be down after a quick shower.”

“ _Of course, sir. If I may, were you having another nightmare?”_

Tony clenched his fists and kept his thoughts from spinning towards all the other times Jarvis had caught him waking from a nightmare and the consequences it had bore. “Yeah, yeah I was.”

“ _I still recommend seeing someone about it, they might be able-”_

Tony didn’t let Jarvis finish. “No. I don’t need help. I _need_ to take a shower.”

“ _Of course, sir._ ”

Tony didn’t take long in the shower, and by the time he was done, it was only 5:58. Just enough time to get downstairs and deal with Pepper before six o’clock. Great. 

Pushing all thoughts of the past night out of his head, Tony went downstairs and found Pepper sitting on the couch, a laptop and a file of papers on the table in front of her. Putting on his best smile, Tony plopped down next to his PA and said, “Everything good this morning, Pep?”

Pepper started at his sudden appearance, but regained her composure extremely quickly. Uh oh. Her smile seemed forced, and if Tony knew anyone, it was Pepper (that isn’t really saying much, though, because he still reads her wrong all of the time, but that’s not the point). She was not happy. Ugh, what did he do this time?

“Mr. Stark.” There it is. Tony was back to being called by his last name, which meant he _had_ to have done something wrong.

“Ms. Potts, you must know by now that there is no reason not to call me Tony-”

Pepper silenced him with a glare. 

“I’m listening.” Tony sighed.

Pepper gave him the tiniest nod and started to speak. “Very early this morning, I got calls from about ten different news companies, all of them saying that they have an inside piece saying that you have gone insane. Any idea what that is about?”

Tony furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Insane? From what? He had night terrors, but that was it- well and anxiety, and most likely PTSD, but none of those were equivalent to insanity. Pepper noticed his lack of comprehension, and shook her head slightly. 

“Of course I didn’t believe them, but they all seemed to have the same source: someone from inside Stark Industries. This person said that you had lost your mind and had even tried to kill them. Here, let me quote their account for you.” Pepper pulled out a sheet of paper with an entire paragraph neatly scrawled out. “ _I was heading home for the night when Mr. Stark left the building, mumbling under his breath about something. I could not hear it at first, but when he got closer, I made it out to be “Kill, kill them all,” or something like that. I was deeply unnerved, and attempted to leave as quick as I could. Before I could escape completely, however, Mr. Stark grabbed my arm and held me in place. His eyes were crazed, and I know what he said for sure now. “Kill all of them. Kill them all. Will you? Kill, kill” I was so scared. At first I thought that maybe he was putting on an act in order to scare me, but then he got closer, and I saw that it was genuine. The only thing it could have been was insanity, or rather a significant loss of mental cognition, caused by his captivity in Afghanistan. Just after I noticed this, Mr. Stark grabbed me by my neck and tried to choke me. I struggled and eventually got out, but by then I was certain that there was something wrong with the usually charismatic and charming man. I hate to be the one to tell the world, but Mr. Stark is dangerous and needs to be put someplace where everyone else can be safe._ ”

Tony’s jaw was slack. That had not happened. It even _sounded_ made-up. What insane person would walk around and repeat the words “kill” over and over? It was astonishing what lengths people would go to simply tarnish his name. Tony let out a small chuckle and looked at Pepper, which immediately wiped the smile off his face. Her face was grim, and her mouth was a deep frown. 

“Tony, I know this sounds far-fetched, but the media believes it. There have been two more witnesses that spoke out since this morning, and I think that the story will be out there by this afternoon. Are you sure that nothing like this happened?” Pepper looked worried, but more importantly, she was confused. She didn’t know what to believe. Tony felt a small pang in his heart, and he rubbed his chest to get rid of the ghost-pain. It hurt him to know that she didn’t believe him over everyone else. She had been the one to stick with him through thick and thin ever since he got back from Afghanistan, but this one news story can make her question him? 

“I never did anything like that, and you know it Pep. This person, whoever they are, is just trying to put dirt on my name.” Tony stopped rubbing his chest and looked straight in his assistant’s eyes. She looked away.

“Tony, you know that these claims are serious. Even if they don’t sound true, there is a possibility that they are. And, _God_ , Tony, this can make you unable to be the CEO of Stark Industries. If it's deemed that you do in fact have an unstable mind, then the company has the ability, and the right, to remove you from your position and have you receive... help.”

Tony swallowed deeply, looking out across the living room to the large windows and sea showing through. These fake claims could ruin his life. He wouldn’t be able to be in control of his company anymore, and what’s worse, he most likely wouldn’t be able to work on any of his projects until he received “treatment” for his supposed insanity. “But there’s an easy way to prove that I’m not insane, right? Just have some doctors test me?”

Pepper nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. But once it’s out in the media, it will be hard for you to get your name out of the mud. These claims are almost incriminating. Walking around saying that you want to kill? Even without the “insanity” allegation, this could still make people think of you as a potential murderer. And I’m not even sure if we could sue.” She took a deep breath. “Tony, please answer me truthfully. Where were you on the night of July 8?”

“You seriously expect me to know where I was three weeks ago? I have no-”

“ _Sir was at the Stark Industries complex, working on the Arc Reactor and studying its function. At the end of the night, he refused me access to any of the cameras or audio due to an argument that occurred between him and Mr. Stane, so I have limited knowledge of what he did after 10:02 p.m.”_

Tony blanched. That sounded bad. And, of course, Pepper thought so too. She rubbed her temples, looking down at her lap. “Tony, I don’t know what to say. Three witnesses against one man who doesn’t even know what happened?”

The pain in his chest started up again. Maybe he was a little insane... no! He was not _insane_ , he had PTSD and anxiety. That did not even begin to qualify as being deranged. What the hell were those people thinking? Even if he had said something like that, it would be way more likely that he was drunk. A few wisps of thought flashed to the forefront of his mind, and Tony stilled. His nightmares... sometimes after waking from them, he would feel desires, no, _urges_ to get revenge. Maybe these claims held more truth than Tony was willing to acknowledge. 

No. No. He is _not_ insane! No.

Tony put on his charming play-boy smile and looked at Pepper again. “Don’t worry Pep. I-I will go see a, um, specialist and get this all cleared up, okay? We can put out a statement and tell everyone that I am by no means, quote unquote, disturbed in the head.”

She folded up her laptop and grabbed the files before standing up and turning to face him. “I really hope that will solve everything, Tony.”

Tony watched as she left the room, and let his face fall. They had this conversation many times before, he remembers. Her telling him that he needs help, him always shooting her down. And the only reason he is finally getting help is to save his already frail reputation. Tony buried his head in his hands and whispered, “I hope so too.”

~o~

“Oh, shut up Jarvis, you know I’m right!”

“ _If I were not programmed to follow your every command, sir, I am sure that I would come up with an incredibly solid argument to prove that I am correct.”_

Tony shook his head and continued to tinker with the car’s undercarriage. Loud ACDC music blasted out of the speakers in his workspace, in direct opposition to the soft classical music that Jarvis believed would be ‘better’ for him. Just to spite his AI, Tony sang along to the song as loud as he could, even though his voice was about as good as a cat scratching a chalkboard. 

“Enjoying yourself?”

Tony jumped, almost hitting his head on the underside of the car. Rolling out from underneath, Tony coughed and said, “What are you doing down here, Obi?”

Stane frowned at the engineer and backed away from him as he wiped his greasy hands on a towel. Honestly, Tony was still calming down from the unexpected noise, but he put on an arrogant smirk to hide his emotions from Obadiah. What _was_ Stane doing in his workshop anyway? He didn’t have authorization to be down here, no one did, not since Afghanistan. The older man shook his head and then abruptly smiled. “Well, Tony, I came down here to check up on you, of course, and also to bring some bad news.”

Tony kept the smirk on his face, even though he knew what was coming.

“The news just broke that you are clinically insane and have harassed and attempted to kill a woman only three weeks ago.”

Tony grimaced and turned away from Obadiah. What could he say? That he didn’t do it? Why should Obadiah believe him over three eyewitnesses? It’s just like Pepper said: it’s going to be incredibly hard to get anyone to believe his story.

Deciding to just go for it, Tony replied, “None of that is true. I didn’t do anything to anyone, and I am most definitely not insane. I’m even gonna go to a specialist to make sure, okay? And then we can put it out there and deny their stupid claims.”

Suddenly there was a hand on Tony’s shoulder, and he tensed up. Closing his eyes, Tony counted to three before turning around and facing Obadiah. His father-figure was inches away from him, wearing a sad expression on his face. 

“Tony... I fear you may be too far gone for anyone to help you.” Tony furrowed his eyebrows. _What_? “You don’t remember that happening? It was the night we had the fight about the Arc Reactor. You... well you weren’t in your right mind after that, and you rushed out of there like a mad man. I followed you, just to make sure you were all right, and well, you did what that woman claimed. Tony, I don’t think going to a specialist will help you now.”

No, that’s not right. That isn’t what happened at all. “You have gotta be kidding me right now.”

Obadiah just shook his head. Tony knew what Obi had just described didn’t happen though. Maybe Obadiah saw something else... but no, Stane had always been so honest before.

Tony remembered leaving the complex in a rage, not interacting with anyone, and heading straight for his mansion. He did not even see a woman, no less try to kill her. What the fuck is going on? Can he even trust his own memories anymore? His nightmares and reality all seem to twist into one lately, leaving no room for Tony to process or make sense of anything. Oh god, what the hell is he going to do?

“I-Obadiah, are you sure? That’s not what I remember at all. No-no I left the complex and drove straight home. Maybe you were seeing something or... ” Tony trailed off as Obadiah rubbed his forehead in exasperation. 

“You know what, Tony? How about you go see that specialist, just to get this all cleared up. I’m sure they can help you. In fact, I know a guy who is qualified to diagnose mental illnesses.” Obadiah smiled. “I’ll set you up an appointment with him.”

Tony smiled weakly back. That’s good. It will prove that he is perfectly right in the head, not like there was any concrete evidence to prove that he was not. Except for the three witness accounts and Obadiah’s recollection, that is. 

Obadiah was gone in the next instant, leaving Tony to his racing thoughts. None of this made sense or fit together, but maybe that was just a sign of his deteriorating mind.

The next few hours passed by extremely slowly. Tony couldn’t focus on anything, and his thoughts always went back to the two conversations he had only hours before. Jarvis had shown him the articles and news story on his “insanity” case, which was being more accurately described as extreme paranoia and PTSD. After reading one of the unprofessional diagnoses of his mental health, Tony was starting to question it himself. He was certainly not insane, that term had gone out of use years ago, but there might be something wrong... and if he couldn’t remember what happened that night, then maybe he was-

“ _Sir, Mr. Stane would like me to tell you that he was able to obtain an appointment with Dr. Kellan Ressco at 6:00 p.m. tonight. It is now 3:45 p.m.”_

Tony jerked out of his thoughts and said, “Seriously? That quick?”

Jarvis’ voice was sarcastic when he replied, “ _Well Sir, you are one of the richest and most influential people in the world. I’m sure their office could easily make room for you.”_

Tony chuckled. “True, true. Okay, I'll be there. Send me the directions, will you, Jarv?”

_“Already done, sir.”_

Tony dropped the small microwave he had been tinkering on and wiped his face off with the towel next to him. After tonight, everything would go back to normal. He could set up a press conference and tell the media that he was in no way mentally unbalanced (except for, well... you know what? Whatever). 

Something clattered from across the room, and Tony jumped right out of his seat, banging his elbow against the table. Cursing profusely, he glanced over to where the sound came from and saw that it was little more than his robot Dum-E dropping a glass of coffee. Holding his elbow to him (it was definitely going to bruise), he made his way over to Dum-E and shooed him away, telling him to go and get a towel to clean up the spilled liquid. Tony reached down and began picking up the shards of the coffee cup, cutting up his hands in the process. It didn’t bother him though, and the pain was a welcome distraction from his conflicting thoughts. Throwing all the pieces into the trash, Tony went back over to his work station and plopped down in his chair, resting his forehead against the cold table and centering himself.

“Oh Jarvis, I hope this works out,” he whispered. His AI’s response was drowned out by the overwhelming desire to sleep, and Tony drifted off into dreams of faceless people wearing vacant masks.

~o~

“ _Sir, it is 5:00 p.m. I insist on your awakening so that you can prepare for your visit with Dr. Ressco.”_

Tony blinked himself awake and chased away the last remnants of his odd dream. 5:00 was early enough so that he could get ready and arrive at the appointment on time. Contrary to his usual behaviour, Tony wanted to arrive before the set time to give off the best impression he could. Groaning slightly, he got out of his chair and headed towards the door of the workshop.

“Thanks, Jarv. What would I do without you?” He said as he left the workshop and walked upstairs to his room. 

Jarvis made a snarky comment back, which Tony successfully ignored. He grabbed a nice shirt and some black pants to change into, grappling with the decision to wear a tie or not. Deciding against it, Tony changed out of his dirty and oily clothes to take a quick shower before throwing on the clean ones. Looking in the mirror, he was reminded that it was only this morning that he had woken up and talked to Pepper. The dark circles were still prevalent under his eyes, and his hair was damp and sticking out everywhere. Tony scratched at his goatee and grabbed a comb from the counter, raking it through his unruly hair and attempting to make it look presentable. Sadly, there was nothing he could do about the circles under his eyes, so he grabbed a pair of dark sunglasses to mask them. 

Looking back at his outfit, Tony rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and unbuttoned the top two buttons. Putting on his best and most charming smile, he almost looked like the billionaire playboy he was before Afghanistan. Satisfied with the mask, Tony left his room and went down to his garage, checking his watch on the way. It read 5:34. Good enough. 

“ _I wish you well at your appointment today, sir._ ”

Tony’s mouth curled upwards and he said, “Thanks kid. Take care of the place for me.” Remembering how Obadiah got into his workshop earlier that day, Tony kept going. “Also, makes sure no one gets down here, okay? I’m not sure how Obi did, but this is my personal space, so no one gets to be here without my permission. Got it?”

“ _Affirmative, sir._ ”

Tony hopped into his hot-rod red car and started the engine, speeding out of the garage. The place was about ten minutes away, so he was going to be incredibly early, especially for him. Blasting rock from the speakers, he sped down the road, darting around other cars and melting easily back into his old pastimes of dangerous and reckless driving. The anxious thoughts and worries withdrew to the back of his head and he focused only on the adrenaline surging through his veins. Laughing and singing along to the music, Tony got to the doctor’s office in only eight minutes. 

It was a small space, with a couple of offices and rooms and a enclosed waiting space with a few chairs. Tony plastered a huge smile on his face and walked up to the front desk, signing himself in. The small space felt like it was crushing down on him and restricting his air, but he didn’t let it show on his face. The receptionist was shocked by his appearance, even though she knew he would be coming in, and it took him longer than necessary to sign in. The other people waiting were all staring at him, making Tony’s back crawl. Their stares were piercing him, and he felt like they could see all of his insecurities just by looking at him. Finally, the receptionist was done and he was able to sit down and absorb himself in reading the latest news on his phone, successfully ignoring the other people and their obnoxious ogling. The headlines were all about him, as expected. Tony sighed and exited the news app, scrolling through his emails instead. His sunglasses were darkening his vision (of course he was wearing them inside!), so he was basically just pretending to look busy in order to avoid recognizing the existence of the other people in here.

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s head shot up, and he saw a blonde man with thick-rimmed glasses and bright blue eyes looking around the room, holding a clipboard out in front of him lazily. Tony put on an easy smile and stood up. The few other people in the room’s eyes followed his motions as he followed the other man to another room, this one looking more like an office, with a mahogany desk and velvet chairs next to a well-worn bookcase. Very stereotypical. 

“Good afternoon, sir. I am Dr. Ressco. How are you today?” The blonde man, Dr. Ressco, smiled brightly at Tony as he sat down in the velvety chair behind the desk. The doctor was giving him odd vibes, like a... a bad actor would. Huh. Tony blinked hard behind his sunglasses and sat down in the chair opposite the doctor. 

“As good as ever. Hey, do you by chance have any coffee? I had to wake up pretty early this morning, and damn am I feeling it now.” Good, go with the old, spirited Tony. Nice and easy.

Dr. Ressco smiled again and nodded before turning to his right where- well where there was a coffee machine. Okay then. The doctor handed him his freshly brewed black coffee and turned back to look at him. Tony leaned back in his chair, placing the hot cup up to his lips and taking a slow sip. The doctor’s eyes traced his arm and hands, and Tony remembered the bruises and cuts that would be snaking across his skin there after the debacle in his workshop. Suddenly self conscious, Tony lowered the cup and placed it back on the table, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Alright, now that that’s all settled, please fill me in. Have you ever been diagnosed with any mental illnesses or issues before?” Dr. Ressco folded his slender hands on the table, looking straight into Tony’s eyes. That’s totally not unsettling or creepy. 

“Uh, not that I know of. Yeah, no. Shouldn’t that be on all those handy-dandy medical files that I allowed you guys to see? Wasn’t that something I signed when Obi set this whole thing up?”

Dr. Ressco’s smile never dimmed. “Of course. I just wanted a non professional report from the patient themselves. It seems that you may be wrong, however. When you were twenty-one years old, you were diagnosed with depression and moderate anxiety.”

Tony licked his lips. That was just after his parents had died in a car crash. “Oh, well, I thought that didn’t count.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow at him, saying, “Anything counts, especially in this case. Yes, I saw the news,” he said as Tony opened his mouth, “but I find that my opinion would be better unbiased, don’t you?”

Tony nodded and took another gulp of the coffee, feeling it start to buzz his nerves and wake him up ever so slightly. 

“So, let us begin.”

~o~

As Tony walked out of there, he felt like it could have gone a lot better. The doctor had said that he would need a week or so to consult others and get the best result possible so as to not misdiagnose him with anything. Tony understood, of course, but just the fact that Ressco needed to consult _anyone_ meant that there was a great chance that he actually does have a serious mental illness. 

Really, as the appointment had gone on and on, Tony felt like he was digging himself a hole with his responses. Dr. Ressco had been unrelenting in his onslaught of questions, and after every one, Tony felt like the doctor was going to diagnose him with something worse and worse. It was a relief to be out of there and back in his car, letting the wind blow through his previously combed back hair. The fierce joy he had felt on the way there was replaced with anxiety and doubt. No music accompanied him on his journey back to his mansion, and even after the multiple cups of coffee he had downed, his brain was still too tired to even think about what he had said.

He finally arrived at the mansion and pulled into the garage, ignoring his AI welcoming him home. He simply went straight up to his bed, ripped off his clothes, and laid down. All of the stress from the previous day weighed him down, pressing on his chest. His chest, where his scar was throbbing and reminding him of what he could not escape. 

He did not elude the nightmares that night. They attacked him unceasingly, never sparing him a single breath or rational thought. They dug through his head until they found his most internalized fears, and then laid them bare in front of his face, forcing him to watch, to feel, until he could not bear it any longer. Only then would they release him from their claws and allow him to fall into the darkness of his mind.

~o~

The sea was beautiful, radiating wonderful colors, reflecting the sun’s warmth, and exuding an aura of calm and peace. Tony could not share in this wonderful feeling. The events of the past few days weighed down on him, inhibiting the wondrous feeling from spreading through his body. It had been three days since his appointment with the doctor and the news of his supposed “insanity”, and since then the claims had only gotten worse. Two more people had come out and said that, ever since Afghanistan, he had withdrawn from his role as CEO and ceased to interact with anyone except for Pepper and Obadiah, who were essentially running the company for him. They said that, when they did see him, he was unstable looking, almost like he was living in a never-ending nightmare. 

These claims were ruining him. He felt nothing but numb pain and despair. If he didn’t have depression before, he most certainly did now. Even Pepper, the one person who could usually pull him out of his funk, was distant. She did not want to associate herself with a crazy man who tried to murder someone. Really, Tony knew that she was better off without him, but it didn’t stop the hurt. He had just been starting to realize that his feelings for her were more than just the desire to be friends, and now it was all over.

Really, the sea had no right looking so beautiful, when everything in his life was so shitty. God, Tony couldn’t handle all of the overwhelming pressure of the past few days, which was actually why he had agreed to go on the boat ride with only Obadiah and no one else. His father-figure thought that it would be a good idea to have him release his emotions and unwind, even if it had to be on a ship. That was probably the best idea he had heard in a while, so Tony had agreed. But, just to make sure, he had told Jarvis that if anything happened to him, if it be by his own hand or not, his AI would shut himself down and delete every file that Tony had ever made. Especially all the weapons files. If Tony... left... then no one would be able to take advantage of his work. He knew that it was unfair to Pepper and Obadiah, who were there for him through so much, that they would not be able to continue his work and maybe even profit off of it, but Tony couldn’t handle the paranoia that someone bad would get their hands on his incredibly dangerous designs and then use them for awful purposes. So he had made sure that no one would ever be able to. 

“Tony?”

Tony closed his eyes and just allowed the salty breeze to blow through his clothes and tussle his hair, not responding to Obadiah. He felt a hand on his shoulder (oddly similar to the action from the first conversation they had in his workshop only three days ago) and leant away from it. He did not want to be touched right now. The hand was gone in an instant. Tony let out a small sigh and opened his eyes again.

“You know, it really is such a shame.”

This got Tony’s attention. “Shame?”

Tony turned around and looked at Obadiah, who was smiling mercilessly. What was going on?

“That it had to go this way. If you had just kicked the bucket in Afghanistan, it would have saved you a lot of pain.”

Tony stumbled backward in his haste to escape Obadiah. _What?_ Why did-- Obadiah couldn’t-- he always said that he was glad that he got home safe! Obadiah cared about him. He-he _loved_ him. Didn’t he? His thoughts were darting everywhere; he couldn’t focus.

“Oh come on, Tony, you had to have seen this coming! You really are the death of yourself, you know. I ordered the Ten Rings to take you out, but of course they failed and tried to glean weapons out of you instead. So, when I realized that I had to do things all by myself, I came up with another plan. Convincing those people to give false testimonies is so easy when you have millions of dollars at your disposal. And a single call for a favor was all it took to have Dr. Ressco falsely diagnose you.” Tony couldn’t breath. It was all a lie. All of it. Obadiah had planned all of it out to a T. Fuck, why was he so stupid? “And then, after you were so caught up in your own mind, all I had to do was suggest a simple trip out to sea, ‘just the two of us’, and you fell for the final trap. Oh Tony, I really am sorry.”

Tony was frozen. He was sure that all the anger and resentment and utter betrayal was supposed to be spewing out of him right now in so many different forms. He was sure that he was supposed to be fighting Stane, trying to wrestle the man’s own life away from him in order to retain his own. But all he could do was stand there, mere feet away from his former-friend, stuck in his spot unable to do _anything_. Obadiah purposefully moved away from him, dropping a smaller boat out to sea and jumping on it slowly. In his hands he held a remote control, which, if Tony had been in his right mind, he would have recognized it as a remote-controlled detonator. Once Obadiah was far enough away, he clicked a button on the device.

Time was at a stand-still. As bright red flames exploded out of the deck, Tony stood there motionless, mesmerized by the deadly fire that would soon bring his death. In slow motion, Tony reached out to touch them, unaware of the pain as they licked up his arms. His head dropped backwards, staring up at the sky as his body was consumed by the first wave. 

He was thrown backwards, propelled by the shockwave of the explosion. The impact of hitting the water was like being run over by a car, and on the very edge of his mind he felt his hand and foot being torn apart by pieces of the ship. Tony could not think, he was simply hypnotized by the closeness and sheer beauty of his death. 

Right before he drifted into unconsciousness and the never-ending darkness, he remembered flashes of faces, some with strawberry blonde hair, others with short, shaven dark curls, all of them wearing tarnished silver masks. All of them letting him go, letting him fall off the cliff of consciousness into endless nothingness.

~o~

Far away, Obadiah Stane smiled down at the corpse of the ship, watching as the flames died down in the late afternoon light. Something bobbed toward him, determinedly fighting against the tide to reach the man’s small boat. Reaching out into the water to pick it up, Obadiah laughed in sheer glee and victory. Sitting in his palm was the severed hand of Tony Stark, who had just tragically died in an explosion that was so _obviously_ created by the young man’s own insanity. That would be the story told, anyways. Obadiah did not stop laughing until the rest of the flames died down and he heard the tell-tale signs of helicopter blades whirring through the sky. Only then did he plaster on a somber expression and let his fingers go limp, dropping the hand to the bottom of his boat. But underneath it all, he knew that he had won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s chapter 1! Please review, it would help me so much! It might take me awhile to get on a regular schedule for updating. I am by no means an expert in any way on mental illnesses, so please correct me if I am wrong about anything.


	2. After Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is forced to become an entirely different man. 
> 
> A new person pops up in his life and is quite possibly the only reason he is still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some graphic depictions of injuries
> 
> (Not too graphic, I’m just putting this here because it depends on the person)

He had not expected death to feel this way. Well, really, there was no expectation for death other than the sweet release of all the pain and suffering that had been caused by life. So the bright flares of agonizing pain were not expected at all. His chest felt like it had been split in two, his hand and foot felt like they had been sliced off, and his entire body was on fire. Possibly quite literally. Every nerve was alight, every tendon felt like it was spliced. Every part of his body was killing him.

But if he were already dead, then it would not feel this way, right?

After what seemed like years, Tony became aware of a sensation cocooning him, sliding over his skin. Through the haze of the endless agony, he saw that it was water. The sea. He is floating, he thinks. On the edge of his vision, Tony noticed pieces of something hovering next to him on the top of the water. It was black and gray and scorched from the flames. Tony knew that he should grab onto it, but he could not make his tortured body move. He was helpless.

Why couldn’t he just die already?

There was no point in living, not when everything he cared about is gone. His-his  _ father _ betrayed him. Because at this point, Obadiah really was akin to his father. He had been raised more by Stane than he had by Howard. But he had tried to kill him, just to take the company from him. Tony had deduced that much, anyways. How had he not seen it? Stane was so obviously envious of his position as CEO, he had been for years. And he showed so much malice towards him in the past few months... how had Tony not seen? He had been so blind, all of them had. Even Pepper... oh Pepper. Even as he slowly fell apart, before Afghanistan even happened, she was there. But not now. Why? Why couldn’t she have saved him? If only she saw... if only she could have known...

“I... will..kill... all of them… ”

Tony was surprised by the strength of this admission that had slipped past his lips. Even if his scorched lips split apart from the strain speaking caused, and his throat burned like a wildfire was tearing through it, he still spoke those words with as much conviction as he could muster. Even if no one could hear him. 

And just like that, Tony felt his sadness ebb away into the back of his mind, making room for sheer anger and hatred. His lips curled into a snarl, the action making his face feel like it was being ripped off. New determination coursed through his broken and bleeding frame. His body burned and his soul felt like it had left his body as he dragged his limp body over and grabbed onto the metal siding that was floating next to him and pulled himself up. His blood smeared all over the blackened metal, and burnt skin ripped off his limbs when they scraped against the jagged edges of the sheet. He collapsed on his back and stared up at the sky, feeling the rest of his skin being shredded apart from the burns. 

Only after he had been laying like that for a while did he fully notice something off about his hands. Something very off about them. One of his hands, his left to be specific, was gone. There was a jagged edge where it used to be, and only a bloody stump left of his wrist. His eyes widened as he rotated the stub around, looking at it from every angle possible in the dimming light. There were tendons sticking out at crooked angles and a bloodied bone protruding from the end, which was most likely his wrist bone. The skin around it was blackened and oozing blood, which was almost enough to make Tony hurl. But his face stayed passive, and he just let out a sigh and closed his eyes. Somehow, he knew that his left foot was in the same shape. Or what was left of it. 

The vicious pain did not cease. Tony could not handle anymore of it. He knew that every piece of flesh was burnt, that his foot and hand were chopped off from the explosion, that there were pieces of metal shallowly peppering his arms and chest. Blood coated his burnt body, seeping out from every crevice on his body. His clothes were in tatters, barely covering his body and the horrifying scar on his chest. His ribs were most likely broken, and the same was most likely true for his remaining ankle, going by pain alone. 

Obadiah had chosen the best possible way to make Tony suffer. Because, even if he wasn’t dead now, he would be in a few hours. Or days. He would slowly bleed out, his crimson blood soaking into the pale azure waves. Everything was against him now, it seemed. Opening his eyes again, Tony watched as seagulls circled overhead, diving up and down, calling out to each other like old friends. The sky was pink and purple, signalling the end of the beautiful day. All around him, the sea’s rustling was a constant, drawing him back away from the edge of unconsciousness. 

As he lay there, his thoughts would circle around and around, always going back to Obadiah and Pepper. Jarvis and Rhodey. Rhodey? Where was he? Where had he been for the past three days? Wasn’t he supposed to be his best friend? Tony let out a hoarse chuckle, tearing what remained of his throat to shreds and then choking up some more blood. The bitter resentment coursing through him increased tenfold. It was Rhodey’s fault as well, then. For not coming to his aid when he needed it the most. Because the past three days had been worse than anything that had happened in Afghanistan, by far. 

Obadiah. Pepper. Rhodey. Dr. Ressco. Those witnesses. Stark Industries. Jarvis. No, not Jarvis. Jarvis was his only real friend and supporter through it all. And he was gone. Tony felt unwanted emotions well up in his throat. God, Jarvis was gone. He wanted to scream. Because, of course, the AI would listen to his creator and shut himself down once he got news of what happened. And Obadiah would be sure to tell the entire world what happened. And they would believe him.

Obadiah. Pepper. Rhodey. Dr. Ressco. Witnesses. Stark Industries.  _ The world _ . They would all pay for what they did to him. They all deserve to  _ die _ . Even Tony deserved to die, but since death would not claim him, he would do everything in his power to make them share the same fate. They would all fucking  _ pay _ .

A smile played at his shredded lips, and he looked absolutely deranged. Now, Tony was certain that the claims of his alleged insanity would be true. 

~o~

The sky was pitch black, stars lighting up the vast darkness and illuminating the ocean around him. Tony had not yet dropped off into unconsciousness, not because he was afraid of death, but because he needed to know if anyone came near so that he could hide. No matter how much he wanted them to search for him, he did not want to be found. His burns were starting to ache less, but they still were agonizing, and the adrenaline racing through his veins was enough for him to not feel the stumps of the former limbs on his left side. There was a chilling breeze sweeping over him, soothing his burns ever so slightly, but also scratching at his exposed wounds. Tony let out a sigh, noticing that his throat didn’t feel as torn up as before. 

It had probably been a couple hours since the explosion, and no one had come searching for him yet. It didn’t make sense, but Tony was grateful for the time in which he could focus his thoughts and gather himself. But, seriously, why hadn’t anyone come? Obadiah would have been sure to tell the media once he arrived back on shore, and someone should have been searching the sea, trying to find him. Or did they just not care? A chuckle escaped him. Of course they didn’t care. He was alone. 

The sheet of metal that Tony was laying on suddenly jerked, almost causing Tony to fall off. With all his will he forced his tormented and broken body to sit up and ignore the fierce and agonizing flares of pain that shot through his body from the motion. Tony looked behind him and almost laughed.

It was an island. A small island.  _ Uninhabited.  _ Well from what it looked like anyway.

Inching his body forward bit by bit, Tony crawled off the sheet and onto the beautiful beach, swallowing down cries of agony. Something in the back of his mind told him to grab his make-shift raft and drag it with him onto the island. 

After all four- two now- of his limbs were safely on dry land, Tony collapsed, the side of his burnt face buried into the sand. Now that he had a semblance of safety, he allowed himself to be overwhelmed by the pain and agony caused by his abundance of injuries, finally falling off into unconsciousness.

~o~

“Oh come on, wake up already!”

Tony was jolted out of his fleeting but vivid nightmares by a harsh voice talking straight into his ear. When he tried to open his eyelids, they felt like they were glued shut. He lifted up his hand to his face (his right hand obviously) with the intent to scratch at them and try to remove whatever was plastering them shut. Another person stopped him though, grabbing his hand and gently holding it away from his face, conscious of the burns.

“Stop that, you are going to ruin the healing cream.” Tony again tried to open his eyes, despite the fact that the other person obviously did not want him to. “Well, at least you’re awake now.”

Tony opened his mouth slightly, glad to know that at least he had full function of his jaw and lips, even if the movement sent large flashes of pain to shoot through his face. Speaking caused his throat to tear itself apart from the pain. “Who... the hell… are... you... ”

The other person, who Tony thinks is a man, sighed and let go of Tony’s hand, who then let it fall down to the surface he was laying on with a thud, pain from the burns shooting through his arm. A groan escaped his lips, and Tony heard a tisking sound come from the other man. Anger surged through him. Who was this person, to think that they could act this way? He was Tony fucking Stark, and they were just a random nobody who happened to live on a deserted island in the middle of the fucking sea. 

Except he wasn’t Tony Stark anymore. That man had died in the explosion. He was... he didn’t know who he was.

“My name is Bucky Barnes.” The man whose eyes were plastered shut felt a spurt of recognition dance through his mind, but it was gone just as quick. “I live here, on this island. I’m originally from New York, though. No one knows I’m here.”

“On... the... run?” The broken man asked, his voice barely audible.

A laugh. “You could say that.”

Silence. 

“So, I wanted to wake you up because I needed you to answer some questions for me, and because you were, well, not having very good dreams.” Nightmares. Sounded about right. 

“... what... do you... want?” The injured man waited for a response. 

“What’s your name?” 

A long wait.

“... Anthony.” Yes. Not Tony anymore. Anthony. Tony is dead.

“Ok, hello then, Anthony.” Barnes’ voice was tired. “How did you end up as half a person?”

Anthony wanted to growl, but he knew that it would most likely ruin his throat even more, probably to beyond being able to heal. This man, whoever he was, was so intrusive and aggravating. Why the hell did the one island he landed on have to have a hobo living on it?

“Explosion.” Anthony didn’t want to give the stranger all the details. From the humming sound that came from Barnes’ mouth, Anthony assumed that the stranger accepted his vague answer. 

“Alright, I believe that. Judging by the burns and the, um, loss of limbs, I can tell it was a pretty severe one too.” Anthony almost laughed at that. Severe? His entire body was on fire, his left side burning white hot from the pain, and his head was pounding from what was most likely a concussion. 

“No... shit... Sherlock... ” Barnes chuckled and Anthony heard a shuffle of feet moving away from him. 

“I’m no stranger to this, believe me, Anthony. I’ve seen worse than this. Well, maybe not worse, but definitely almost as bad. You’ll be fine in a couple of months, I’m sure. But for right now, you should probably go back to sleep.” Anthony agreed with that. In sleep, his pain ebbed away, if only a bit. He could feel it at the back of his mind, calling him. Just before he let the sweet darkness claim him, Barnes spoke again. “Got a last name?”

Did he have a last name? Did he want one? Last names were ways to be recognized, to be distinguished from the crowd of vermin that inhabited this disgusting planet. But wasn’t Anthony just another one of those rats? Just another bastard, whose crimes outweighed most of the people on the earth’s? So no, he did not need to be separated from the pack, in any way. 

“No.”

~o~

Two days later, Anthony was able to open his eyes. Barnes was a good-looking man, that was for sure. Long dark brown hair, muscular arms, warm blue eyes, perfect teeth, tall. 

But when Anthony looked closer, he could see that this man was  _ not _ perfect. 

His hair was jagged and unbrushed, knotted in some places and looking unkempt. His arms, well rather  _ arm _ , was covered in scars. His left arm was made of what used to be pristine metal, but was now covered in dark smudges and scratches. Those cobalt eyes were haunted and filled with terrible memories. At first glance, all of this was masked by his easy-going appearance and calm attitude. But Tony could now recognize a man who had been through hell. 

~o~

After five days of being on the island, Anthony remembered where he had heard the name Bucky Barnes before. 

His father had known a Barnes, back during World War II. Anthony remembered how Howard Stark had gone on and on about the Howling Commandos and how amazing they were. How Tony- for he was Tony back then- had to be like them, follow in their footsteps and help protect thousands with his inventions. Howard was obsessed with them and their legacy, especially the one named Steve Rogers. The very man who had flown a plane filled with bombs into the ice to save millions (or billions?) of lives. Tony had not liked any of them; his father had ruined the heroes for him. He had just been compared to them too much for him to look up to them anymore.

And Barnes had been one of those Commandos. Anthony was confused. How could he still be alive? He remembered a story from long, long ago that had been about how a soldier named Barnes had fallen off a train to his death. How tragic. Tony had loved that story despite his enmity towards the other Commandos because it showed true heroism and bravery, showed the willingness to give up your own life for the people you love and cherish. But now Anthony hated it. It reminded him of his own death aboard that boat. It reminded him of how no one would honor his memory as they had Barnes’, all because of the twisted and skewered view that Obadiah was sure to add to the story of Tony’s tragic death. 

Anthony decided to say nothing to Barnes about any of his thoughts.

~o~

After two weeks on the miserable island, Anthony could speak with barely any pain, most likely because of the juices the other man had been forcing down his throat every day. His headache had also stopped, meaning that the concussion had lessened. This helped him communicate with Barnes easier, and he could now help him dress his own wounds by letting him know where it hurt the most. Anthony had barely moved from the dirt mound he had been laying on when he first woke up a fortnight ago, only shifting to go to the bathroom or eat the mashed up fruit that Barnes had been serving him. 

Barnes had wrapped Anthony’s severed limbs when he had first woken up, and had been washing and changing them periodically so that they wouldn’t get infected. Somehow, the man had dressings that would keep out infection, even though he was on a random island in the middle of nowhere. Quite convenient for him, if nothing else. The metal that had been shallowly lodged in his upper body had been expertly removed by Barnes with tweezers and a scalpel (where had they come from?) and then covered in the healing dressings. Some of it had been deep, and had caused the other man to dig in with his knife to get them out, much to Anthony’s disgust and discomfort. The knife and scalpel had cut through burnt skin, so even now Anthony could feel the ghost-like agony riddled across his chest and arms. The pain did not matter anymore, however. It was like an old friend... how pathetic. He sounded like a teenager going through their emo phase. His broken ribs had been set by a bandage covering his upper body after the procedure to remove the shards, and his ankle (which had also been broken) was also wrapped up to keep it from moving and getting reinjured.

When Barnes had started the “surgery” to remove the shards of metal, he had to remove the remains of Anthony’s shirt from his body, revealing the ugly scar that had been hidden by the blackened clothes. Even when Barnes had dressed his burns in the healing paste, he had not fully removed the shirt from Anthony’s chest.

His reaction was, to be honest, not fulfilling to Anthony. He had expected a gasp, or a question about where he had gotten it. But all he received was a slight frown and a nod of understanding. Hands lightly skimmed over the now-blackened skin of the scar, gently feeling the symbol of Anthony’s pain. 

For that scar is where it started. Afghanistan. The place where Obadiah had left him to die. Anthony was once again filled with anger and rage, and had not paid attention to the rest of the “surgery”. 

A day after the removal of the metal, Anthony was tired and depressed and angry and in pain, and just so fucking done with everything. 

“Why are you helping me?”

Barnes stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Anthony, who was laying on the mound. The other man’s hands were covered in some random red fruit’s juice, making it look like they were covered in blood. He wiped his hair away from his face, pushing it behind his ears, and then sat down in front of Anthony, crossing his legs. 

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m sick of feeling useless. Maybe it’s because I want to make myself believe that I’m a good person. Maybe it’s because you remind me of someone I used to know.” Barnes ran his metal hand through his hair, looking extremely tired. 

Anthony was not satisfied, and any semblance of pity or sympathy for anyone or what they were going through had died with Tony. “Who? Who do I remind you of?”

Anthony did not know how he could remind anyone of anything right now. His body was now so thoroughly changed from how Tony’s looked, even his face must have mutated.

Barnes lifted his head and looked Anthony in the eyes. “No one you would know. He’s probably dead by now.”

Anthony curled his lip. He was not in the mood for this. His burns were aching, his hand and foot cocooned in white-hot pain. His response came out closer to a spit than actual speech. “If you say their name, I might know them.”

Barnes narrowed his eyes. “Howard Stark.”

Anthony let out a bark of laughter, his chest protesting from the strain it caused on his ribcage. His remaining hand went up to his chest to stabilize it, and he kept laughing. 

Of course. Because this was  _ Bucky Barnes _ , wasn’t it? The man who had died in 1942 was somehow alive and breathing right in front of him. How fucking  _ hilarious _ .

“What is wrong with you? Do you know him?” Barnes’ eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth set in a scowl. Anthony slowly stopped laughing, and looked into the other man’s eyes, debating on how to answer.

“Everyone knows Howard Stark. He created one of the largest weapons companies in the world, pioneering some of the greatest inventions in history. The real question is how do  _ you _ know him?” Anthony smirked at the dark-haired man, enjoying the fleeting look of despair flashing across his face. 

Barnes ignored his question entirely. “... is he dead?”

Anthony rolled his eyes, an entirely unwelcome feeling taking over his mind. He hated thinking about the death of his parents. “Of course. He- he and his wife died in a car crash in 1991. His son took over Stark Industries after that. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m supposed to be dead too. Just like you, I think. Just like Howard is right now.” Barnes’ reply startled Anthony, but he kept a straight face. Was this really  _ the  _ Bucky Barnes?

Should Anthony reveal his true identity to this stranger? 

No, didn’t  _ have _ a true identity. He hadn’t  _ hidden _ anything about himself. Barnes had never asked. But now, with this subject hitting so close to home, what could Anthony do except reveal who he had been?

No, he would never do that. He was no longer associated with Tony Stark, not in any way. He was simply Anthony now, and he would have his revenge on everyone who had hurt him. 

“Alright. I actually don’t care. Keep your secrets, because I’m going to keep mine.”

Barnes scowled at Anthony, but still got up and walked away. Good. No more personal questions, from either parties. There was only so much he could take in a single conversation. And silence was always the best option for him now.

They never mentioned Howard Stark again.

~o~

A month after his initial arrival on the island, he was able to limp around, using two sticks as make-shift crutches. His left stump of a foot was always wrapped up, as was his left wrist. The crutches were not very useful, because of his lack of two hands, but Anthony would take any victory he could. The formerly broken right ankle was now healed fully, and he was just starting to get it back to normal function. His ribs were still extremely tender, but the worst of the pain was past. The burns were also mostly healed, even if parts of his skin would be blackened forever. 

Barnes barely talked to him except to ask him what he wanted to eat, or if his injuries hurt more than usual. Anthony appreciated the quiet. It left him alone to his damaged thoughts, which were now almost always overcome with thoughts of revenge. He was slowly planning out the demise of everyone who had a hand in creating who he had become. 

Anthony never joked anymore. He simply had no time or energy for it. His entire being was centered around revenge and the satisfaction it would cause. 

Anthony had also grown out his hair quite a bit. He refused to let Barnes cut it. The same was to be said for his goatee, which now resembled more of a beard. A lot of it had been scorched off in the explosion, but most of it had grown back by now, making him look less and less like Tony every day.

~o~

After five months on the island, Anthony’s ribs were fully healed, and his two severed limbs were no longer covered by wraps. There was a fresh layer of skin stretching over the edges of the limbs, covering the bone and tendons that had been previously sticking out. His burns no longer hurt. 

Barnes had shown him the entire island by now, and Anthony wandered farther and farther on his own from Barnes’ make-shift home every day. The sea was beautiful, and Anthony loved to sit on the beach and let the salt waves wash over his tender skin until he fell asleep.

He had never appreciated the ocean to quite this extent before, even though he had lived in Malibu for a majority of his life. It had a calming effect on him, especially after he woke from a particularly horrifying nightmare. Masks were always a recurring theme in his night terrors now, even though they no longer resembled his Iron Man helmet, which had been destroyed after his escape from the cave in Afghanistan. It was in the moments where he was being caressed by the ocean’s gentle hands that Anthony wondered why he hadn’t pursued the Iron Man tech, even without the use of the miniaturized Arc Reactor, which had also been destroyed in his escape. If he had that tech at his disposal during the events leading up to Tony’s death, he might have been able to avoid all of this. 

But that was wishful thinking, and all in the past. Why waste his time idly wondering, when he could be designing a hand and a foot for his lacking body?

~o~

Two years later, after days and days of designing, Anthony finally asked Barnes where he could find parts to build himself cybernetic parts. 

The other man had looked at him like he was crazy until he looked at Anthony’s left side, and then a look of comprehension spread across his face. 

“I have some tools, and I kept the sheet of metal you came here on. For wires and stuff, you would need to go to the mainland or something. There are a few boats that come around here, but they most likely wouldn’t have the materials you need.”

So, of course, Anthony asked Barnes if he would go to the mainland for him, and get him the parts he needed. And, of course, he said yes.

As it turns out, Barnes has a boat.

~o~

Three years after the explosion, Anthony had two new limbs. 

And long hair and a full-grown beard. 

He hasn’t looked in a mirror since Tony’s death.

The hand and foot were made out of a shining silver metal that Barnes had stolen from a random mechanic shop on the mainland, and had been crafted by Anthony over the last year. The complex wires and machinery making up the limbs had taken Anthony months to perfect, but he had finally gotten it right. Barnes had helped him attach them, of course, using even more machinery that he had stolen from the mainland, and also with the help of pain medication. 

Anthony could finally walk normally and use both hands again. He felt like an entirely new man, and much better equipped to enact his revenge. 

He also found that he did not mind Barnes touching him as much as he usually did.

~o~

Four years after his arrival, and a year after his successful attempt at creating limbs, Anthony asked Barnes to teach him how to fight. 

“ _ What? _ ” Barnes' face was confused, his eyebrows furrowed close together. Anthony shook his head at him.

“Teach me how to fight. I know you can, and I need to learn how to protect myself.” 

Barnes sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if I can…”

“Please. I need you.”

Barnes straightened up, a determined look now on his face. After all these years on the island, Anthony had found that Barnes had a weakness for trying to prove himself and convince himself that he could be a good person. “I’ll try.”

Anthony smiled, really smiled, for the first time in ages.

~o~

As it turned out, Anthony stayed on that island for seven years. He had worked on perfecting his new limbs, adding new features to them with every bundle of tech that Barnes smuggled out of the mainland. 

After he had finished with those upgrades, he worked on the boat, changing it from a normal fishing boat to a high powered and extremely fast one. His genius was truly amazing at times, wasn’t it?

When he had finished with that, he upgraded Bucky’s metal arm, giving it heat enhancers and even a knife function. Because, after all this time, Anthony had figured out that Bucky was in fact on the run from something other than his own mind, and that he could use extra protection. He hadn’t pried though. The other man was grateful for the enhancements, and had even given him a hug, which Anthony had not reciprocated.

The fighting lessons that Bucky had been giving him for around three years started to pay off, and he had almost beaten his friend a couple of times in their mock fights. Bucky had taught him both hand-to-hand combat and knife-fighting, which Anthony turned out to be quite proficient at. Of course, Anthony programmed some moves into his prosthetics so that they could instinctively protect him from harm.

When he wasn’t fighting, Anthony worked on his plan for revenge, perfecting it. He knew exactly what he had to do, and would not stop at anything until he satiated his desire for blood. Or, more specifically, the blood of Stane and all the people who had wronged him.

When it was finally time to leave, Anthony called on all his rage and anger to fuel him, pushing his sadness at the thought of seeing Bucky for the last time to the back of his head. Bucky, who was no longer thought of as “Barnes”, was and would always be a good friend. Quite possibly his only friend. 

“I’m sorry to see you go.” Bucky’s face was impassive, but Anthony had learned to read the man over the last seven years. His friend, and saviour, was incredibly sad, but also nervous. “I’ll miss you. A lot.”

Anthony smiled lightly at the dark-haired man. Taking a step forward, he wrapped his arms around Bucky, pulling him into a hug. Bucky was startled, but soon reciprocated the embrace, wrapping his own arms tightly around Anthony, making sure not to hurt him with his metal arm. “I’ll miss you too. I want to say thank you, for saving me. I would have died without you. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Bucky took a step back, grinning. “No, no, I’m fine on the island. Too many memories out there, you know?”

Anthony laughed and turned around. “I might visit. Be ready for me!”

Anthony stepped off the boat, which Bucky had steered all the way to the mainland before dropping him off on the beach. “You’re always welcome. Don’t forget, you have to come back for our anniversary!”

A louder laugh flew past his lips as Anthony remembered how they would celebrate his arrival on the island each year with a small feast. For the first time in a while, Anthony felt something like happiness race through him. “I’ll try to make it!”

And with that, Anthony turned around and started his way up the beach, leaving behind Bucky and all the good memories that came with him. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! This one is only out so soon because I already had it written and I just had to edit it a bit. I didn’t want to add too much to his time on the island, and I left a lot up to the imagination! Heh, not sure if I correctly depicted wounds, but I tried to do my research and look some up in order to get a better picture.
> 
> Anywho, please review or leave kudos if you would like, I appreciate anything!


	3. Don’t I Know You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony finds out that his plan needs more steps than he thought for it to work...so road trip?
> 
> He meets someone new when he finally gets to his destination. Seems like a pretty cool guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some graphic depictions of violence/gore (for some people) and descriptions of injuries
> 
> I’m not overly happy with this chapter, and it basically refused to work with me while I was editing it :( But enjoy.

After all this time, Malibu looked like a hellish reality straight from one of his nightmares. 

It was evening when the boat had arrived on the shore, and Anthony had wasted no time in distancing himself from the retreating boat and its sole occupant. An odd feeling of somberness settled over his heart as he walked farther away from the shore and closer to the city.

Would he ever actually see Bucky again?

Did it even matter?

Anthony dispelled the feeling, pushing those thoughts to the back of his head. He told himself that his friend would forget about him in a month anyway. What was seven years to someone who had been alive since 1917 anyways? He would be what? 98 now? What year even was it? It had been 2008 when Tony had died, and now seven years had passed... so 2015. Anthony shook his head and headed up to where the harsh, bright lights of the city were lighting up the dark sky and illuminating countless streets leading to giant houses, not even glancing back to where he had come from.

A thought suddenly occurred to him, and for the first time in seven years, Anthony questioned how the island had stayed hidden for all that time. How had nobody sailed there in the entire time he had inhabited it? It wasn’t that far off the coast, so anyone could easily find it if they looked. Anthony shook his head. Just another mystery that would never be solved, and did not need to be.

The walk from the beach to the main city was long and tiring, but Anthony made it there in record time even though it was extremely dark out now. His satchel of belongings thrown over his shoulder, he entered the bright city and blended right in with the few pedestrians making their way down the street. They all looked either drunk or like creeps, so Anthony kept his distance from them. He wasn’t ready to have to deal with some random piece of shit this late at night, especially after not interacting with anyone except for Bucky for years. 

He successfully avoided all of them, well, most of them. Some random man was passed out in an alleyway, and Anthony couldn’t resist the appeal of free money. The guy looked like a sleazy douchebag, but a well-off one, and Anthony did not feel the least bit bad about taking every single piece of cash that was on him. 

324 dollars total. Not bad. Anthony would need to get a job before he could start to enact his revenge, and this would set him on the right track. At least for tonight he would need to get a hotel. He couldn’t exactly stay the night at Tony’s old mansion, now could he? All of his stuff was probably sold anyway. Surprisingly, that thought did not have any effect on Anthony. Why should he care about Tony’s old things? He was an entirely new man now. 

Except... there was a gaping hole in Anthony’s heart, right where Jarvis used to be. After all this time, the loss of his greatest creation still hurt. His AI had been loyal right to the very end, and how had Anthony repaid him? He had stayed on the island, silently fuming, never actually taking any action for revenge.

“But now I am, Jarvis, and I will avenge both of us,” Anthony declared into the night. No one was around to hear, and only a few cars passed by on the lonely street.

Anthony’s thoughts drifted towards his plot for vengeance, and he stopped paying attention to his surroundings, letting his feet guide him. He just walked for a few miles, totally unaware of where he was headed. When he started to focus again, surprise filled Anthony as he noticed where he was. It was the old Stark Industries Complex. How had he gotten here so quickly? 

Anthony paused and just stared past the barbed wire fence, his eyes darting over the outside of the once familiar building. There were a few construction vehicles surrounding the place, but Anthony did not think too much about them. His eyes skimmed over a sign, and suddenly he blinked and whipped his head around to stare at it. _What?_

“ _Main building in New York City, NY. No longer in use._ What the actual fuck happened?” Anthony murmured, his mouth curling into a sneer. They had moved their headquarters? That meant all of his plans had just gone straight down the drain. He had counted on infiltrating the company, working his way up to the top until he could get revenge on Obadiah and Pepper in the most personal way possible. But now he couldn’t. “No, no, no. I’ve been gone _seven years_ , and they have changed everything! How could Stane be so stupid. Oh my _fucking_ God.”

Anthony held back a scream and pulled at his hair in frustration. Everything he had been planning for the past seven years had just been totally ruined by this one simple twist of fate. His plan... it was _ruined_! How could he even get to New York? He had no identification, meaning that he could not get a flight and he barely had any money, so he couldn’t just order people to drive him all the way across the country. He couldn’t even contact one of Tony’s old ‘friends’ to help him.

Why had he waited so long?

The bag fell off his shoulder, and Anthony collapsed to the ground, finally letting out a guttural scream. His metal hand ripped through his hair, almost pulling out half of it before he forced it away from his head. Anthony could feel his scar aching, almost as if it _knew_ what he was going through right now. What he was remembering. Because, at this moment, all Anthony could think about was how Obadiah Stane one-upped him one last time. And thinking that led him to remembering Tony’s death and all the pain he had gone through before, all the _betrayal_ and _hurt_. The lies and the goddamn masks. 

He started to shake. Anthony curled up tight into a ball, holding his knees to his chest to relieve the shudders. He knew that he would not cry, he had not cried since he got back from Afghanistan. But he still felt the pain, and he had to release it somehow. He slowly felt all of the pressure from his past closing in on him, pressing him down, forcing him to relent in his hunt for revenge. Could he do it? Could he avenge himself? What if it was all too much?

New thoughts flitted to the front of his brain, and Anthony stiffened. He was having a mental breakdown in front of a well-known facility and, even though it was abandoned, there could be countless cameras, any of them recording his foolish loss of sensibility. Growling, Anthony grabbed his satchel and picked himself up off the ground, ignoring the rising pain in his chest right where his scar was, and forcing back all of the emotions that had risen up in his brief loss of control. The soft shirt that was covering his upper body was starting to feel increasingly hotter and hotter, scratching up against his scar. Anthony clenched his fists, hissing at the discomfort it caused him. 

He forced his boot-clad feet to carry him past the facility in the direction he was heading before. This time, however, Anthony focused on where he was going instead of allowing his mind to wander. He would have to survive for now, and he would figure out what to do next in the morning. 

Anthony purposefully kept walking until he had left the area of Malibu entirely. It was way too expensive to spend the night there, and there were cheaper places to stay in other towns. And, of course, he didn’t mind walking. By the time he had left, it was around 7:20 at night. (Bucky had stolen him a watch in one of his visits to the mainland, and Anthony had taken it with him after he left the island).

It took a long time for Anthony to reach one of the towns he remembered from Tony’s life: Cornell. About five hours, to be precise. By the time he got there, his entire body was aching and tired from the endless trekking and movement. He had only ever stopped to drink water, intent on keeping a steady pace. 

Maybe he could simply walk across the entire country to get to New York?

Anthony found a cheap enough hotel rather quickly, and he checked himself in for one night. The person at the desk looked extremely tired and overworked, so they didn’t even ask for identification, which was a rather dumb move. But Anthony was grateful for the person’s lack of judgement and minimal conversation (he hadn’t exactly interacted with anyone for seven years), and he headed straight up to his room. It had only cost him $64, so he still had plenty of spare cash. 

The time read 1:05 a.m. when he reached his room. Anthony dumped his few belongings on the small desk that was right next to his bed and then headed over to the bathroom. It was small but clean, and the shower that he took was extremely refreshing. The years of dirt and grime were scrubbed away, and his hair smelled fresh for the first time in years. Anthony savored the feeling, lingering in the hot shower longer than necessary. When he finished, he looked down at his body. The water’s powerful spray had washed away all the dirt that had been accumulating over the past seven years from his lack of bathing frequently, letting Anthony see the full extent of his scars for the first time. 

It was horrible. 

Anthony’s eyes first took in the dreadful state of his chest. His original scar was the most prominent, a dark red and black stain smacked straight in the center of his chest. All around it was pink and red scarring, most of it from the burns. Jaw trembling, Anthony ran his human hand over his chest, feeling the bumps of the scars from where Bucky had dug the knife and scalpel in to remove the shards of metal, and then tracing the outlines of some of his more severe burn scars. His fingertips shook as they felt all of the raised and tortured skin on his chest. A lot of it was still a creamy-white color like it had been before the explosion, but there were still plenty of pink-red scars riddled across his entire upper body, making him look like an abstract painting. 

His arms were next. Anthony remembered when he had first seen Bucky’s arms, and how the fleshy one had been severely scarred. His own arms now reminded him of his friend’s. There were scars from the metal shards all over them, and, to make things worse, several pink burn scars. The area where his left hand connected to his wrist was probably the worst scarring on his entire upper body. It was raised, jagged, and a pearly white color, opposite from the burn scars and their outlandish pinks and reds. Anthony clenched his jaw and looked at his left foot, seeing the same thing. The metal foot was connected to the calf by rugged and criss-crossing scars. His fingers lightly traced the marks, feeling each one that represented the same memory, the same loss. When his fingers met the lifeless metal of his foot, he cringed and drew his hand back sharply. Just another reminder of what he had been forced to become. Anthony took a deep breath and surveyed the rest of his body, ending with his legs, which were less burned than the rest of him. 

Taking slow steps out of the shower and being dreadfully aware of how he couldn't feel his left foot and hand, Anthony looked in the mirror for the first time in seven years. 

He looked nothing like Tony. His hair was below his ears and reaching towards his jaw line, his beard now full (although longer than he would like), but most importantly, his eyes were different. They looked almost haunted, from both anger and fear, from the desire for revenge and the anxiety and PTSD that still preyed upon his mind when he was left alone to his thoughts. Anthony knew there was a reason he actively avoided looking at reflective surfaces.

And he had a scar on his cheek. From what, Anthony did not know. But it was long and jagged, cutting through his eyebrow to the corner of his right eye and ending at his jawline. To be honest, it made him look pretty badass. When Anthony smiled, the scar would whiten, straining from the movement and making him look pretty deranged. His eyes turned sadistic as he grinned, filling with the malice that he usually kept locked away in the depths of his mind. 

He could give himself away by doing that. He almost looked like Tony when he smiled, even with the crazy expression it produced.

But it was all just another mask.

Anthony ripped himself away from the mirror, pulled on his old clothes again and finally dropped into the bed. It had been an arduous and demanding day that had played so much with his emotions that he felt ready to drop dead. 

Anthony’s body shut down extremely quickly, allowing him to fall into the deceitfully sweet embrace of sleep faster than usual. Of course, nightmares plagued him, but they were so chaotic and turbulent that he was able to avoid any serious reaction to them. In fact, they were so unruly that they were almost peaceful.

~o~

“Have a nice day, sir.”

Anthony was already out of the hotel by the time the young boy at the front desk greeted him, and headed to the nearest parking lot. He had sat up in his room for the better part of the morning, contemplating what to do next. His entire plan depended on being near the headquarters of Stark Industries, so he would have to go to New York if he wanted to fulfill his promise to both himself and to Jarvis. It didn’t take long for him to decide to hijack someone else’s car and take it on a long-distance road trip. He was just hoping that they would have some spare cash in the glovebox or something. Did cars still have glove boxes? It was 2015, for fuck’s sake, anything could have happened in the seven years he was gone.

Chuckling to himself, Anthony found a slightly run-down looking parking lot outside of an apartment complex and walked to one of the older looking cars that would have a system from the last time he had been on the mainland. 

There was a time when Tony would have known almost every make or model of a car and how to drive it, but that time had passed, and now Anthony was stuck with little more than a vague memory of all of Tony’s cars from his old garage. 

But he was still an engineer, and he would be damned if he couldn’t hijack a car. 

Anthony unlocked the door in less than a minute using one of the tools that flicked out of his metal hand when he pressed a hidden button on his thumb, and had turned off the emergency alarms in another ten seconds. Glancing around quickly to see if anyone had noticed him, Anthony entered the gray two-door Honda and pushed the tool into the engine again to start the car, checking to see if it was in good shape and had gas before driving it out of the parking lot. As it turned out, the car did not have money in the glovebox. Just his luck.

Checking the clock in the car, Anthony noted that the time was 11:30 as he made his way down the street. The car was automatic, at least, so he didn’t have to worry about changing gears all by himself. 

Tony would have wanted it to be manual.

He needed to stop thinking about what Tony would want. 

Anthony drove on and on for hours, every few minutes checking the paper map of the highways and roads that he had stolen from the hotel to make sure he was on the right path. 

He only ever stopped to get gas and food, and he even drove on through the night without rest. He was relentless. Anthony needed to get to New York as fast as he could. He was never one with much patience.

The first time he stopped was to take a nap, but he woke up after only five hours and kept driving. None of this was healthy, he knew, but Anthony had never been healthy. He did not _need_ to be healthy. All he needed was revenge. Anger fueled him as he drove down the deserted roads, and all he thought about was how he could kill Obadiah in the slowest and most painful way possible. Next would be Pepper and Rhodey, who, after all these years, had not tried to find him. Anthony did not care if his views on them had become twisted by his experiences over the past seven years, he did not care if he was blaming them for things they did not do. All he cared about was his revenge.

~o~

It ended up taking him eight days to reach New York, which seemed outlandish. Anthony had stopped for an entire day in a small town because of something he had read on one of the signs. He had immediately pulled into the nearest parking lot and grabbed one of the newspapers (why were there newspapers? Hadn’t those gone out of fashion like decades ago?) and read the title. 

“ _Obadiah Stane announces new weapons plan: Should include every town in the USA!_ ”

“Isn’t it great! Everyone will be getting defense weapons from the government in case of terrorist attacks!” Anthony had overheard someone say. What the hell did that mean?

No, he knew what that meant. Obadiah was going to use these people and their false hopes in order to create leverage over the entire nation. He would have a monopoly on all of the weapons in the country, and he would be sure to use that to his advantage. 

Anthony was even more enraged than before.

How had Obadiah gotten his hands on his weapons? Anthony- no, it had been Tony- had tried to shut down all manufacturing after what happened in Afghanistan, and Jarvis would have deleted all of the other files on them. None of it made sense. But in his rage, none of it had to make sense. He just had to make sure it didn’t come to fruition. 

Anthony stayed in the town for the rest of the day, avoiding conversation with the other people there. If anyone had talked to him, he was not sure what he would do. Probably hurt them, if he were to be honest. Not the best thing to do when trying to keep a low profile.

He had left during the night, not bothering to stay in a hotel. The rest of the trip to New York had been uneventful, days bleeding together into one big hazy dream.

New York was not like he remembered. Or maybe he had just forgotten after all this time.

~o~

It was an embodiment of chaos. People everywhere. Honking, yelling, talking, beeping. Never ending noise. Music coming from all around him, never ceasing in its aggravating repetition. 

Anthony welcomed it. 

After all this time, he was back. Silence had never suited him- no it had never suited Tony. But Tony was similar to Anthony, was he not? Tony was a part of Anthony, no matter how much he denied it and wished him away. Tony had _created_ Anthony. 

Anthony could not deny that the unending noise was getting on his nerves a little, but this atmosphere was so much more calming to him than the obsolete streets of Malibu, or even the silent winds that always inhabited the island. As he walked through the streets, pushing through throngs of people, he felt an odd sense of calm wash over his tired body. Maybe it was the fact that he was so close to getting his revenge. Or maybe it was the fact that he had gone against the fate that had been planned out for him, what Obadiah had planned for him. He had rejected death. And now he was back, poised and ready to take his revenge.

It was around 8:00 at night by the time he reached Stane Tower. Anthony remembered how Tony and Pepper had been planning on building a Stark Tower, back before Afghanistan and the explosion. It seems like Obadiah beat him to it.

As it turns out, Stark Industries had only kept its name because it was probably the most well known business in the world. Anthony had to hold in his laughter at the absurdity of the entire situation. Tony Stark had died, Obadiah Stane had gotten sole ownership of Stark Industries and substantially more power because of it, there was now a gigantic tower exhibiting his excessive ego, and no one had questioned it?

The side of the tower had “Stane” written on it in huge letters, colored a bright blue and shining in the darkness. Anthony shook his head in disgust and continued past the monument, grinding his teeth. All of his thoughts from when he had been at the Stark complex in Malibu came rushing back to the forefront of his mind, but he tried to focus on anything but them. Anything but all the lies and betrayal and masks. Anything but how naive Tony had been. Anything but how much hurt and suffering could have been avoided if he had just _been smarter_ and noticed all of the signs. Anything but that.

Anthony knew what he needed to chase these thoughts away. It was something he had not had in seven years, but he could still taste the sharp curl of alcohol on his tongue, the warm sensation filling his chest, the numbness that would envelope his mind. Yes, right now he needed a drink.

It was a good thing that there was a bar pretty close by, because Anthony did not know how much longer he could last before his thoughts consumed him, like they had done in Malibu. The bar was called Tricks and Drinks, which, if nothing else, was quite creative. Anthony does not remember Tony ever visiting it when he was in New York, which isn’t saying much, because Tony never could remember much of where he went the night before once it was morning. Anthony scowled at the thought. How pitiful Tony had been. It is almost a blessing that he had died.

The outside of the bar was quaint, with a simple sign hanging in front of it. Above it, there were apartments and other stores, making the building about five stories tall. Anthony entered the door and was bombarded with soft music and the low drone of voices. He was surprised by how many people were in the bar, expecting the small space to draw less attention. What shocked him the most, however, was the lack of heavy music and blaring sound. Instead, there was quiet background music playing... was it classical? Listening harder, Anthony realized that it wasn’t classical, per say, but something quite close.

None of it mattered. Anthony actually liked this better than anywhere Tony had been. Sitting down at the open bar and throwing his satchel over his shoulder, he combed his right hand (his normal one to be exact) through his hair and hid the other one in the pocket of the sweatshirt he was wearing. He didn’t exactly want to show off his glaring metal hand to the general public, now did he?

“What can I get for you?”

Anthony flinched slightly at the vaguely British sounding voice before raising his head, making sure to keep most of his features cast in shadow or covered by his messy hair. On the other side of the bar was a startling handsome man, with long black hair pulled back into a bun, pale skin, sharp cheekbones, and an all over magnificent physique. From what Anthony could tell at least. The other man looked incredibly bored, his hands busying themselves with cleaning out a glass. His face was tilted downwards, so his emerald eyes were peaking through his eyelashes to look at Anthony. 

“I’ll keep it simple tonight. Whiskey on the rocks.”

The other man merely nodded his head and moved away to prepare the drink. Anthony was getting sort of impatient, his thoughts drifting closer and closer to the events that happened seven years ago. He clenched his teeth and distracted himself by pulling out some money from his pocket. There wasn’t much left from the money he had started with (and had been consistently stealing on the trip from Malibu to New York). Anthony let out a small sigh.

“Something wrong?” The other man had placed the whiskey right next to Anthony’s elbow, which was resting on the counter. That was good because Anthony really hated being handed things, a trait he supposed he still shared with Tony. “You look like you have something on your mind.”

Anthony glanced up again and saw that the black-haired man was leaning casually against the ledge, looking at Anthony in interest. One of his eyebrows was elegantly curved upwards. 

Anthony took a sip of the whiskey before answering. The warm feeling spreading down his throat was enough for him to push away his bitter thoughts for a few moments. “Nothing really. Just something that happened a while ago.”

The other man hummed. “I don’t mean to pry, but have we ever met before?”

Anthony stiffened. Did this man know Tony? He tried to rack through Tony’s memories, but none of them held even a trace of this man. Was this random stranger able to recognize Anthony as what was left of Tony Stark? Was his disguise that translucent?

“Most likely not. What’s your name?” 

The other man looked at Anthony’s shadowed face again, searching for something. 

“Loki.”

Anthony let a small smile play at his lips. He was going to be okay. Tony had never met anyone named Loki before, so this man should have no reason to recognize him. It was all just a coincidence. 

Loki played with his rolled-up sleeves, still studying Anthony’s face. Anthony did not look away, thinking that it would be a sign of submittance. And he would never submit again.

“In all seriousness, I’ve seen your face before. Do you live around here?” Loki finally looked away from Anthony’s head and started to clean out more glasses, a new expression lighting up his face. Anthony chewed his lip and clenched his metal fist, which was still hidden in his sweatshirt pocket. The quiet music seemed to grow louder and louder as he contemplated what to say. What would give him away? Loki was already suspicious of him.

“Well, actually, I have come around this part of the city a little, but not recently.” That was true. “I’m actually looking for a place to stay here. Looking to open up my own business in a few years, you know?”

What just came out of his mouth? A business? When did he decide to do that? Anthony took a large gulp of his whiskey, trying to shake away all the anxiety that had just stepped right into the center of his thoughts because of his runaway mouth. At least he got one thing right though. He _did_ need a place to stay.

Loki stopped cleaning out the glass and looked up at him again, the faintest grin on his face. 

“You’re in luck, then. I actually have a lot of apartments over the bar that I need to rent out. No one’s been looking at them for a while, and I could use the extra money.” 

Anthony felt his heart race. How could he rent an apartment if he had no money?

“I, um, I don’t know... ” Anthony stuttered, eyes darting around. This was way too much conversation for him; he had barely been back in civilization for a week. Loki noticed his uneasy behaviour and frowned slightly. 

“No pressure, of course.” Anthony felt a little of the anxiety lift off his shoulders with those simple words. He took a deep breath and looked around the bar, noticing that most of the other people had left. There was one group of guys hanging out in the corner and staring at Anthony and Loki, but that was it. How long had he been here? It had to have been around 8:30 when he got to the bar, and (Anthony looked down at his watch) it was... 9:40? What? How the hell did the time pass so fast? They had barely been talking for a couple minutes… 

Anthony turned back around and took another sip of his whiskey, which had been refilled by Loki, who seemed to be the only bartender. All of a sudden, there was a tap on his shoulder, causing him to flinch slightly. He had not been touched in a long time, and the shoulder touch reminded him too much of Obadiah. Anthony slowly turned around, intent on calmly asking whoever had touched him to kindly not do it again, and he saw that the group of young men from the corner were now standing before him, their bodies stinking of alcohol. 

The one in the middle cleared his throat and smacked his lips together. The guy was around thirty, Anthony thinks, and he was surprisingly ugly with a large red nose, tiny eyes, broken teeth, and a gross green mohawk. Anthony kept his face neutral as the man spoke. 

“Alright, little man, we overheard you talking to Bartender Pretty Boy. We know you’re looking for someplace to live, and we got the perfect place for you.” The man smiled widely, causing his eyes to squint and become even smaller. Anthony allowed his lips to shape into a disdainful scowl. Of all the nicknames they could have chosen, they went with _Little Man_? He wasn’t even that short. 

The other men drew closer, enclosing Anthony in a tight circle and causing him to become extremely claustrophobic. He needed to get _out_.

His breaths becoming faster and faster, Anthony said, “And where would that be?”

Really, how is it possible for a person to look so much like a pig? The man, who Anthony supposed must be the leader, gripped Anthony by the shoulders and breathed right in his face before saying, “Downtown. If you come with us, we can set you up.”

Anthony knew they were tricking him. Or trying to trick him anyways. Most likely trying to get him out of the bar so that they could mug him, or even kill him. But what could he do here, except follow them? They outnumbered him five to one. 

“Leave him alone, Aleck.”

Anthony shifted his head slightly to the right, looking at Loki. The man was now out from behind the counter, a towel thrown over his shoulder. Anthony had been right in his assumption that Loki had a glorious physique. The pale man’s body was lean and lengthy, but there was obviously hard muscle underneath his clothes, going by the look of his arms. Anthony took a deep breath to clear his wandering thoughts. He needed to focus right now, not think about random strangers’ bodies.

He drew all of his lingering fury and resentment together to stabilize him as “Aleck” responded. “Why? I’m just trying to help the guy out.”

Aleck was extremely red in the face now, most likely from the combination of alcohol and frustration. Loki, on the other hand, was the perfect picture of calm. Anthony chewed on his lip again, waiting for the response. 

“No, you are not. I would like you out of my bar, and I kindly ask you to never return.” His voice was cool and steady, but Loki’s eyes betrayed him. They were like pits of fury, emerald green spheres sparkling in anger. Anthony got a feeling that this had happened before.

Aleck snarled, but took his hands off Anthony’s shoulders, who immediately got out of his seat and went to stand near Loki. The man radiated strength, and Anthony felt safer next to him. Not that he couldn’t protect himself, of course, but the need to stand with someone else and get away from those guys was overwhelming. He had been with Bucky so long, that even a week without another person by his side was straining. 

“You can’t fucking ban us. We ain't done nothing wrong! I was just trying to be a nice human being.” 

Loki walked forward until he was in Aleck’s face. “Leave, or I shall call the police.”

Anthony could only watch as Aleck swung his fist at Loki’s head. He was ready to jump in (and/or make his escape), but, just as fast as Aleck swung, Loki ducked and kicked out his leg, sweeping Aleck off his feet and causing him to crash into a table and break it into pieces. The other guys backed away, all of them looking nervously at Loki and Aleck, who was now back on his feet, blood trickling down from his temple.

“Big. Fucking. Mistake.” Aleck growled as he wiped the blood from his face and swung at Loki again. Anthony dragged his eyes away from the fight to where the other men were now advancing on him. Okay. He could handle this. 

Anthony thought back to his training sessions with Bucky over the past three years and drew on all the moves he had learned, hoping to escape the fight without any serious injuries. Why did it have to be the one bar he goes to that has volatile idiots that want to fight people?

Anthony tuned out the other fight going on, where Loki had just flipped Aleck over his shoulder, and he focused on the man closest to him. He was stocky but well built with muscular arms, probably the most buff of all the guys. Anthony quickly threw his satchel as far away as possible, hoping that nothing got lost.

For a split second, Anthony paused, debating whether or not to remove his metal hand from his pocket. If he did, he could reveal more about himself than he was willing to. But if he didn’t, he did not have much of a chance of surviving this fight. Groaning from indecision, he finally took it out as the guy reached him. The stocky man, who Anthony dubbed ‘Brick’, bounced on his toes before quickly darting his fist out like a boxer. Anthony quickly ducked, but not before Brick clipped him on his right shoulder. Anthony growled and jumped backwards, rolling his shoulder out. Damn, that was going to bruise. Brick was smiling like an idiot, which just made Anthony increasingly angrier. He waited until Brick darted forward again before grabbing his extended fist with his right hand and then sharply swinging out his metal fist and clocking him across the jaw. There was a sickening crunch and the man dropped like a sack of flour, his jaw hanging loosely off his face.

Anthony looked down at his hand, and then at Brick (was he unconscious? dead?), who was lying on the floor, and finally at the others, who were now wearing angry expressions and advancing even faster past the many tables that had been separating them during Anthony’s fight with Brick. Anthony grinned crazily, his eyes lighting up from the thrill and the adrenaline that was now coursing through his body. 

He could almost pretend that these people were the ones who betrayed him all those years ago. 

The next two guys attacked at the same time, but Anthony clicked a concealed button on his metal hand, causing a small knife to appear out of a compartment in his pointer finger and drop into his palm. Spinning, Anthony swept the deadly knife across one of the guy’s necks before he could even react, feeling it gracefully cut through his skin like butter, tearing through layer after layer of the man’s throat. When a thick spurt of blood erupted from where he had sliced, Anthony knew that he had hit an artery. Blood splattered all over his face, coating his skin a dark shade of crimson. His grin spread as the lifeless body crashed to the floor, and he ducked underneath the remaining man’s next punch, which almost caught him on the same shoulder that Brick’s had. Growling in the pleasure of finally being able to take out his rage on someone other than himself, Anthony squatted even lower than before and punched the second man in the stomach with his normal hand before reaching up and slashing across his face with the other.

A scream of pain exploded from the man’s mouth, and Anthony relished the moment as the disgusting man dropped to the floor, clutching his face, which was now missing an eye. The hands covering the gaping hole were now colored a deep red from the blood, a stark contrast to the pale white skin color of the thug. Anthony then simply kicked the guy’s head with as much force as he could muster with his metal boot-clad foot. The resounding thud from the head cracking on the floor caused Anthony to let out a small chuckle. He flipped his knife into the air, letting it spin twice before catching it in his metal palm with a tiny _click_. The soft music was still playing, a sweet background track to the beautiful chaos he had just constructed.

Revenge was sweet. 

He blinked quickly, trying to clear his head. This was not revenge. This was murder. 

Just as soon as the thought hit, Anthony pushed it away. Self defense. Yes. _Enjoyable_ self defense. Not murder. And even if it was, what did it matter? What was the problem? He was finally getting rid of all the scum that inhabited New York.

_Tony wouldn’t have done it._

Tony wouldn’t have done it? Fuck that, he isn’t Tony, he is _Anthony_.

“Ahem.”

Anthony whipped around, almost tripping on the limp corpses underneath him, holding his bloodied knife out in front of him threateningly. Instead of more goons like Anthony was expecting, Loki was leaning against one of the remaining tables, both the remaining guy and Aleck’s body splayed out beneath him. The dark-haired man looked extremely unimpressed, but more importantly, like he had been watching the entire thing from the start.

“You do realize that you made this a lot harder than it had to be. Wonderful knifework, though. Even if it is considered dishonorable to bring a knife to a fistfight.” Loki stood up, drawing closer to Anthony, who tensed up, still holding the knife aloft in his left hand. The other man was wiping his dirty (bloody?) hands on the towel that still hung off his shoulder. There was a dash of blood on his right cheek, and his shirt was covered in dust from the broken tables.

Loki held his hands up in a calming gesture, some loose hair falling out of his bun and in front of his eyes, which were now filled with amusement. “No need for that. After all, I did help kill these men. Although, we could have beaten them without that, of course.”

Anthony furrowed his eyebrows. Why was he so calm? They had just taken out five men in five minutes. They had just _killed_. And this man was acting like it was something that happened everyday. Who was he?

That was actually ironic, if he thought about it, but he was losing focus.

“Who are you?” Anthony rasped out. The adrenaline was still racing through his veins, so his pulse was racing erratically, and the stranger slowly inching towards him was not helping to calm his nerves.

Loki laughed. It was a bright laugh, sincere. Was he honestly _happy_ right now? All Anthony could feel was excitement and anger, not joy. Never joy. Has Anthony ever felt joy?

“You do not know me, I should think. But I think I know who _you_ are.” Loki looked down at his metal hand pointedly. Anthony stiffened even more, retracting the knife back into his hand and stuffing his fist back in his pocket. His breathing had yet to slow down, and he waited in anticipation for Loki’s next words.

“And who am I?”

Loki grinned maniacally, his emerald eyes still burning from the fight.

“Why you’re Tony Stark, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, so he finally meets Loki. I know that it’s literally only chapter 3 and he’s already meeting him, but oh well, that’s just how it happened.
> 
> I would appreciate any feedback because, as I said before, this chapter isn’t my best. 
> 
> Just to let you guys know, I usually post a chapter once I finish writing the one that will come after it, so the next chapter might be out in a week or so. Things are getting busier for me. Thanks for reading!


	4. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Loki finding out about Anthony’s past. 
> 
> He also meets someone new, someone who can help him out, if only a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some mentions of PTSD
> 
> Longer chapter than usual :)

Anthony felt his heart plummet all the way to his toes. He had spent little more than a week away from the island, and some random person he just met had already found out about his past. 

“What?”

Seriously? That’s his best response? To be fair, Anthony’s brain was scrambling about right now, desperately trying to think of a better reaction to Loki’s words.

Loki’s grin never faltered. “Tony Stark. The man who conveniently died seven years ago in a boat explosion. The man who no one could find, no matter how much they searched. The man who’s company now holds a monopoly over almost every weapon in the United States of America.”

Anthony was still stuck on Loki’s previous sentence. They had searched for him? But- how had they not found him? He had been floating on the water, not too far from the initial explosion and the remaining debris from the ship. It should have been  _ easy _ to find him, which meant that someone must have tampered with the search. Anthony sneered and barely suppressed a shudder of rage. He did not notice Loki inching even closer to him until the dark-haired man was right in front of his face. Too close. Flinching, Anthony lashed out with his human hand, only for it to be easily caught by the other man.

“None of that please, Mr. Stark.”

Anthony growled. “Not Mr. Stark. No, Tony is dead. My name is Anthony.”

Loki frowned slightly, his grip on his hand tightening slightly. “Of course. I expect that you have been running from your past from quite some time now?”

Snarling, Anthony snatched his hand back out of Loki’s grasp and took a step back. The need for space was once again overwhelming, in stark contrast to his urgency to be close to Loki only moments before. “What do  _ you _ think?”

“I  _ think _ we need to dispose of these bodies before someone else comes in here.”

Anthony blinked quickly and snapped his head to look up at the other man in shock. How had he forgotten so quickly about the dead bodies now rotting away on the floor? If they didn’t do something about them, other people would find the corpses and know they had killed them. He couldn’t be caught by the police, not when he still didn’t have any identification.

“Alright, then. What are we going to do about them?”

We. Now they were some sort of demented team after only knowing- if you could even call it knowing- each other for a few hours. Loki seemed to notice this too, his pearly white grin appearing once more on his pale skin. Anthony let out a deep breath, his thoughts drifting back to finding a way to deal with the unexpected discovery of his past identity this early in his plan for revenge. He had not wanted  _ anyone _ to find out this early.

Loki ignored his question and instead stared at Anthony’s face. “I know what you are thinking right now. You have no cause to worry, I won’t tell anyone about who you used to be. I’ll even let you stay upstairs rent free.”

“Why?”

“You intrigue me. Come, I will show you where we can deposit the bodies.”

Anthony felt uneasiness spread through his entire body, but he pushed it away in favor of dragging the bodies to the back of the bar and out into an alleyway. Loki joined him a moment later after turning off the lights in the bar and locking the doors, Aleck’s limp body held haphazardly in his arms. He dumped the body in a strange metal bin, and Anthony followed suit until all the men’s bodies were piled in the box in a bloody and broken mess. As it turns out, Anthony  _ had _ killed Brick with a single punch. Knowing that did wonders for Anthony’s confidence.

Once the bodies were all piled together, Loki took a small green metal lighter from his pant pocket and flicked it until a flame burst forth. Anthony held his breath as the strange bartender lit the corpses on fire and the glaring red flames consumed the disgusting men in one bright blaze.

Loki looked absolutely deranged in the fire light. Anthony was sure that he did too.

“I intrigue you?” Anthony murmured. In the flickering and dancing light, the tiny shift of Loki’s head was barely visible, but Anthony caught it. 

“Yes. I wish to learn more about you, what drives you. I am quite the lonely person.”

Anthony stared into the flames, which were now spitting black ashes. It terrified him, being so close to the fire. His burns were tingling with the memories of the explosion. “I find that hard to believe.”

A stunning laugh came from Loki’s parted lips. “Why? Believe me, I am not normally this charismatic. I tend to stay away from others.”

“I do as well.”

“I believe that.”

They stood there in silence until the last of the bodies had been fully burnt and the metal box was starting to lose its own shape. Only then did Loki disappear inside to retrieve a water bucket to put out the flames, whose smoke had barely been contained by the small alleyway. With a hiss, the fire faltered and dispersed into a large plume of smoke. Anthony covered his mouth with his human hand to keep out the smoke, only to find that it was coated in dark blood. Grimacing in disgust, Anthony started to rub it on his dirty sweatshirt, trying to get the dried mess off his calloused hand. He was starting to get nauseous from the combination of the smoke and the blood, which had never bothered him before. Maybe it was because this was his first kill.

“Can we take this back inside?”

Anthony wasn’t able to see Loki’s reaction in the dark, but he heard retreating footsteps, most likely heading back into the shadowy bar. Anthony followed the sound, his own feet making hollow noises echo through the alleyway. 

As soon as he entered the bar, Loki spoke. “I am going to clean this all up. Feel free to join in.”

A soft glow lit up the room, and Anthony recognized it as a small lamp in the corner of the bar. From the light it shed, Anthony was able to see Loki grabbing a spritz bottle and another towel from behind the bar counter.

“Grab the tables for me, would you?”

Anthony shook himself out of his trance and moved towards one of the broken tables. Why was Loki acting so normal? No nervous movements, no uneasy looks, no worrying that anyone was going to find out what had conspired in his bar that night. It was almost like he didn’t  _ have  _ to worry. 

Busying himself with picking up all the pieces of the tables and chairs that had been broken in Loki and Aleck’s fight, Anthony forced himself to stop thinking about it. It did not matter how Loki acted, as long as he did not reveal anything about Anthony to other people. 

Anthony was going to take full advantage of Loki’s offer, and use it to get himself back on his feet. Soon enough, he would be able to get a job at Stark Industries, and then he would be able finally get his revenge. 

~o~

As soon as they were done cleaning everything and had thrown out all the damaged furniture, Loki led Anthony upstairs into his own apartment, telling him that he would have to use his apartment because the others weren’t furnished. And also that Anthony needed to take a shower.

Anthony didn’t think much of it of course; he had been living with another man for the past seven years. What would staying in the same apartment as another man do that living on an island with Bucky hadn’t?

Then Loki started to undress. And what could he say? Loki was extremely hot. Before, when he had just met the bartender and was remarking on his physical features, Anthony had already designated that as a fact. And now, when the taut muscles in Loki’s back were exposed to the air as he took off his dirty shirt, Anthony was practically drooling. Bucky had also been extremely fit, but he rarely exposed his bare skin. Something to do with past trauma. Anthony had never asked. 

Loki turned back around after throwing his dirtied shirt in a hamper in the corner of the room and caught Anthony staring at him. 

“Are you going to move out of the doorway, or are you just going to stare at me all night?” Loki smirked at him, crossing his arms. Anthony nodded slightly and took a few steps into the room, which was Loki’s bedroom it seemed, forcing himself to look anywhere other than the other man. He dropped his satchel of belongings in the corner of the room, trying to keep his gaze from the other man as he did so.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight. You can have my bed, since you’re the guest. But only after you take a shower and change your clothes. They’re filthy, you know.”

“Okay.” Anthony’s mind blurred as the taller man started to walk towards the bathroom, his hips swaying with each step. He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander lower… damn it, Anthony! Drag your mind out of the gutter! He’s barely known this man for a couple hours and he was already reverting to a mindless teenager. The bathroom door shut with a click, and Anthony was left alone, standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. Shit, Loki is going to seriously fuck with his plans, wasn’t he?

~o~

The blood on his face covered his scars well. The jagged mark could barely be seen underneath the crimson, and his burns were neatly hidden behind the red splatters. He was practically unrecognizable. Anthony did not want to rinse off the blood.

He had to. It would be therapeutic, he thinks, to get rid of another mask. Mask. He  _ hates  _ masks. And the blood was just another one, hiding his new self, hiding the scars that defined him. Also, the blood was filthy; it was the blood of vermin and scum. He did not want  _ that _ on his face. 

So with a quick gesture, Anthony dipped his hands in the pearly white sink and splashed water on his face. He took the soap bar and rubbed off the dried blood, getting rid of the mask. The sink was now stained with the ruby color, but his face was back to a nice tan and there was no more blood on it.

Next was a shower, where he rinsed off all the grime he had accumulated both on his trip to New York and during the fight. His clothes had been discarded long ago, and Loki had placed a new set just inside the bathroom door for him to change into: a short sleeve shirt and some baggy pants. Anthony wasn’t sure if they were going to fit, since Loki was much taller and lengthier than he was, but it was a kind gesture. One that Anthony certainly hadn’t been expecting from anyone. In all honesty, Anthony had expected to begin and end his journey for revenge all by himself, without any outside help. This turn of events was unpredictable, especially the part where Loki figured out about Tony, but he figured that it was for the best. He wouldn’t have gotten very far without help, especially with no money. Loki could be a good accomplice as well, if Anthony ever told him his plans. The bartender gave off mysterious vibes, but Anthony trusted his instincts when they told him that he could trust the actual man. More than he could trust anyone else, anyways. Never fully trust, though. Anthony could never entirely trust another person again, not since Tony died.

Anthony refrained from looking at his scars in the shower. He did not want to relive the horror from his shower at the hotel.

After his shower, Tony brushed his grimy teeth with the toothbrush Loki had given him before putting on the clothes, which were a bit large on him. The short sleeve shirt exposed a lot of his scars, from both the burns and the metal, but Anthony was not about to ask for another shirt. Looking in the mirror one last time, Anthony brushed a hand through his wet hair, trying to comb it back. The long strands, which now were well past his jaw, stuck to his metal hand in a tangle of dark hair. Growling, Anthony combed them out with his normal hand before exiting the bathroom.

Loki was sitting on the bed, reading a book. When Anthony entered the room, the bartender’s gaze went directly to the man’s left foot and hand, his expression one of pure curiosity. 

“You know, when Obadiah Stane came back after the explosion, he had your hand with him. That’s how he convinced everyone to think that you were dead.”

Anthony stopped in his tracks, his fist clenching around the dirty clothes he held in his hands. Obadiah had  _ what _ ? His hand had survived the blast, and his former father-figure had used it as a trophy, a token of his victory. Anthony’s vision blurred from anger, and he threw his clothes onto the ground.

“Why?”

Loki looked confused. “Why what?”

Anthony raised his head at the bartender, his eyes small whirlwinds of fury. “Why did they believe him? Why did they stop searching? Why did they allow him to take over my company?  _ Why? _ ”

Loki sighed and placed a bookmark in his book before setting it on the bedside table and getting to his feet. His hair was dangling in front of his eyes because he had taken out his bun for a shower, making it hard for Anthony to get a good read of his emotions. 

“Come with me. I’ll fill you in on everything I know about both you and Stane.” Loki walked out of the room, obviously wanting Anthony to follow. Only then did Anthony realize that the bartender wasn’t wearing a shirt. Damn, it’s going to be hard to pay attention, even despite his desire to hear what Loki has to say. Anthony had no idea he still had the capacity to lust after someone, but it seemed like that part of himself would never change, no matter how much everything else did. He had never felt that way about Bucky, making him think that he just wasn’t capable of it anymore.

When he walked out of the room, he saw that Loki was seated on the couch in the living room. Across from him was a velvety green chair, a long glass table separating them. Anthony sat down in the chair, waiting for Loki to begin. The entire room was cast in shadow, fitting the mood. Only the paintings on the walls were bright, for they had their own personal lights attached to them. Before Anthony could fully admire them, Loki spoke.

“As you well know, Tony Stark supposedly died in an explosion seven years ago, the same explosion that Obadiah Stane barely escaped, according to him,” Loki began, his face expressionless. Anthony was already captivated by his words, waiting impatiently for him to continue. “He brought back the left hand of the young CEO as proof of his death and then proceeded to tell the narrative that Tony Stark, in his fragile state of mind, rigged the ship with explosives and essentially commited suicide. Stane was barely able to jump on another boat and speed away before the larger ship exploded. When he returned, it was released to the public by a Doctor, I forget his name, that the claims against Stark of alleged insanity were in fact true.”

Anthony was shaking.  _ Suicide _ ? Tony had been  _ murdered _ by one of the only men he trusted. The same man who had the  _ nerve _ to say that Tony had tried to kill  _ him _ ? And now Obadiah’s little speech on the boat made sense. He had paid the doctor to falsely diagnose him and release it to the public. Fucking piece of shit. “Dr. Ressco.”

“Pardon?” Loki leaned forward on the couch.

Anthony wrung his hands together, not even being careful with the metal one so as to not injure himself. He needed the pain right now to help focus his thoughts and center his emotions. “The doctor’s name was Kellan Ressco.”

Loki went back to his earlier position, nodding his head. “Ah.”

“What happened next?” Anthony asked, his voice so quiet that it was almost a whisper.

“People mourned, of course. The world loved Tony Stark, even if he was a douchebag.” Loki smirked at Anthony, who was almost unwillingly rolling his eyes. “Obadiah Stane took over the company as CEO and took on Pepper Potts as his own PA.”

That made Anthony growl. Was Pepper that disloyal to him? She would easily work for Tony’s murderer without a second thought? Without questioning Stane’s fractured story? He clenched his jaw as hard as he could, his teeth almost breaking from the pressure. 

“Anthony, Ms. Potts mourned as well. She was devastated; she didn’t come out and make a statement until well after a week had passed.” Loki said with a sigh after noticing the change in his facial expression. Anthony’s jaw slackened slightly. She was sad that Tony died? For some reason, Anthony’s twisted mind had created a different reality, one where Pepper did not care about him and had continued on with her life without a second thought. His mind had warped Anthony’s view of Pepper, the one person he had been the closest to. The one person who had stayed with him through- no, she hadn’t. She  _ left _ him. Right when he needed her the most. Let her mourn. She deserved the pain.

“Good,” was all Anthony was able to say.

Loki shook his head but did not go back to that topic. “The weapons department, which, as you know, Stark had been trying to shut down for months, was set back up to full distribution and development. All you- sorry- Stark had been working for was pushed down the drain and forgotten. Stane sold his weapons to whoever could buy them. This of course caused other weapons manufacturers to have to compete with Stark Industries, namely Hammer Industries.”

Anthony cringed. He had not heard that name in over seven years, and he had hoped he would never have to again. Justin Hammer, Tony Stark’s long time rival, ran Hammer Industries, which was little more than a cheap copy of Stark Industries. 

“But how did Stane keep producing the weapons? I- Tony deleted all the files for the new ones when he died. The older ones would have been outdated by now.” Anthony kept clenching and unclenching his fists, his metal one making a slight grating sound. Loki had closed his eyes and was leaning back fully against the couch, his hands folded together on his chest, which was still bare. Anthony quickly tore his eyes away from the other man. Focus.

“There were other designers besides Stark, you know. Obviously, the quality of the weapons were not as good as if Stark himself had designed them, but they worked well enough for the people who bought them. Mainly terrorists and criminals, mind you.” With a sigh, Loki opened his eyes again and stared straight into Anthony’s own. Mesmerizing.

While staring into the beautiful emerald eyes, Anthony was struck with a thought. 

“How do you know all this? It happened seven years ago.” 

Loki slowly rose from his seat, still staring into Anthony’s eyes. “Like I said, you intrigue me.”

By the time Anthony stood up, Loki had already turned his back on him and was heading towards the kitchen. 

“I’m getting some water. Feel free to go to bed.”

That was his cue then. Shaking his head ever so slightly, Anthony walked back into the bedroom, turning off the lights as he entered and then plopping down into the bed. The pants he was wearing felt all scratchy. Well that’s what happens when you don’t wear underwear. Anthony sighed heavily. Just another thing he needed to ask Loki for. He hated needing other people.

And that just called for the question: why was Loki helping him so much? The man had said that Anthony intrigued him, but what did that mean? Why would someone share their home, their  _ bed _ , with a stranger who they had only met a few hours before? Who they had seen  _ kill _ ? Who  _ was _ Loki? Growling in frustration, Anthony pulled the covers over his body and turned over. He would try to find an answer for those questions during the time he spent with Loki, no matter what. Even if it got him thrown out, Anthony would find the truth.

~o~

The next morning, Anthony found Loki in the kitchen, fully dressed (thank God, Anthony would not be able to handle himself if Loki wasn’t) and making coffee. Thankfully, Anthony had lasted through the night with no nightmares. Maybe it had something to do with him taking out his pent up anger on the men he had killed last night, but Anthony was grateful for the respite. It also meant that Loki did not have to find out about his night terrors. Anthony did not want to have to open up to this man about any of his past, even if Loki already knew about the public portions of it.

“What day is it?” Anthony asked as he entered the small space. Loki didn’t look up from where he had been pouring the coffee mix into the coffee machine. 

“Sunday the ninth of August. I don’t open my bar until one.” 

_ Sunday _ . Last night was Saturday. He had arrived in New York on Saturday the eighth. Anthony decided to keep a mental calendar of every important date from now until he finished his plan for vengeance, just for a sense of organization.

“Thanks. Can I have some of that?” Loki was now finished making the coffee and had poured the black liquid into a cup. Glancing over at Anthony for the first time, Loki rolled his eyes and reached up into the cupboard to grab another mug. Anthony averted his eyes as the man’s shirt hitched up, exposing some of the pale skin of Loki’s back. 

Jesus. What the fuck was wrong with him? Had he reverted back to a newborn? Was he that horny that he couldn’t see the tiniest amount of skin before getting turned on? Anthony mentally punched himself. He was distracting himself too much from his plan.

A cup of coffee appeared in front of him, a pale and slender hand attached to it. Anthony’s eyes followed the hand up the arm back to where it was attached to Loki at the shoulder, slowly trailing up to meet his green eyes. Loki looked vaguely amused, a playful smirk pulling on the edges of his lips. His lips, which Anthony was now staring at. 

He hadn’t even known this man for a day. This man had killed with him, had revealed shitty details about what happened after Tony died, but barely  _ talked _ to him. And he was nursing a schoolboy’s crush. Disgusting. 

Anthony hadn’t even come to terms with being attracted to men. Or to  _ anybody _ , really. Sure, Tony had been bisexual, but Anthony had not experienced attraction to anyone in the past seven years, so it was kind of hard to figure out his sexuality. Maybe he wasn’t even attracted to women anymore. Who knows.

“Seriously, Anthony, you are extremely transparent. If you are looking to find your way into my bed, then simply ask.” Loki was grinning like mad now, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Anthony sputtered, “Uh, no. What? Um. How did you- uh- get that impression?”

Loki laughed, a real laugh. Not a fake one like Anthony was used to hearing, from both his own lips and others’. “Alright. Be like that. I’ll always be here if you change your mind.”

Loki pressed the mug into Anthony’ hands and retreated backwards to clean up the coffee machine. Well that was interesting. Anthony was kicking himself over the wasted opportunity, but inside he knew that he had made the right decision. He couldn’t afford to be distracted this early in his plan by someone he had just met. Maybe after it was all over…

“Hey, Loki. You know all about me, how come I know nothing about you?” Anthony sat down on the same velvety green chair he had been sitting on last night, sipping from the mug. The living room was connected to the open kitchen, so he could still see Loki as the man turned around and leaned against the counter.

“I don’t know  _ anything _ about you, Anthony. Or are you talking about my knowledge of Tony Stark?” Loki’s lips were now shaped in a mischievous smirk.

Well, damn. Anthony had walked right into that one. Because he was no longer Tony, right? Tony had died. Isn’t that what he had been saying all along? 

“You caught me there,” Anthony responded, not knowing what else to say. That affirmation just made Loki’s smirk grow, making him look absolutely manic. “I suppose I was talking of Tony, who is just as much a part of me as anyone else in my life.”

Yes, Tony helped create Anthony, just as Stane did. Just as Pepper, Rhodey, Dr. Ressco, and Jarvis did. 

Loki seemed satisfied with his small victory in the battle of words and he took a seat on the couch once more.

“There is little that you need to know about me, the first of which is that I wish to do you no harm.” Loki took a drink out of his cup and pulled a few strands of his long hair behind his ear before continuing. “The next is that I will help you no matter what you plan on doing. I find myself in need of a distraction.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow. A distraction? Well, that’s fair. Anthony was using Loki as a distraction as well, he supposed. But helping with no matter what he planned on doing? Wasn’t that going a little far? How did Loki know that Anthony would even allow him to help? His revenge seemed a little too personal for any random stranger to come and jump on the bandwagon and try to help him out. 

“That still tells me nothing. I doubt that you don’t have secrets locked away in that pretty little head of yours.” Damn it, Anthony. How did that slip out?

Loki just smiled at his words. “Ah, but they are called secrets for a reason, aren’t they?”

“You know one of mine, I think it’s only fair that I know one of yours.” 

Squinting thoughtfully, Loki paused before responding, a small smirk on his face. “Well, I do believe this will help you, and I was planning on telling you anyways. This is not my first face.”

Anthony’s thoughts stopped abruptly, his hands pausing form where they were raising the mug to his lips. “As in you have multiple identities? Are you on the run?”

That could explain the fighting skills. Maybe Loki had been a spy, or possibly an assassin?

Loki smiled sadly. “That’s one way of putting it.”

There was a long stretch of silence before the dark-haired man continued. “What I meant is that I could get you a fake I.D. But only after you trim that ridiculous beard. I liked the goatee better.”

Anthony was dazed. That was the one thing he had forgotten. He needed identification in order to be able to get a job at Stark Industries. Without Loki, that would have been much harder. 

But the thing about his beard was unnecessary. He supposed it could use a trim… but why was Loki even paying attention to that in the first place? And Anthony hadn’t had a goatee since- well since Tony died. That meant Loki had been “intrigued” by him for far longer than he had let on. Or that the last picture of Tony was the one where he had a goatee, and since Loki knew that Anthony had been Tony, he recognized that it was a better look on him. Most likely the latter, as Tony Stark had been a household name and his picture would have been everywhere. Anthony didn’t want to think about what it meant if Loki had been interested in him even before he had met him. 

“Why, are you jealous?” Anthony smirked.

Loki stiffened slightly before loosening up again, but Anthony could see that he was no longer relaxed. There was a hard look in Loki’s eyes now that wasn’t there before. Anthony must have hit a nerve. “Not in the least. But I think  _ you _ are jealous of my hair. Seems like you are copying it, but you aren’t pulling it off very well. Maybe long hair is too much of a feat for you.”

Anthony chuckled a bit, extremely aware of the tight smile now on Loki’s face and the slight bitterness in which he said those words. “You may be right. You certainly know how to make it look good. Teach me?”

Loki’s smile became more relaxed. “You wish. If I helped you, your hair might actually be able to rival mine.”

The friendly banter seemed to calm Loki down, which was good. Anthony didn’t want to have to deal with a moody man first thing in the morning.

“Although I would love to discuss anything and everything that you could do to my hair,” Anthony said, staring right into Loki’s eyes, “I think we should get me an I.D. first.”

Loki slid gracefully off the coach and got to his feet, clearing his throat. “Of course. We can visit him now, before I open up the bar. He should be awake. Ah, speaking of the bar, I expect you to help out. My usual employee is out sick; that’s why I was all alone last night.”

Anthony sighed, but he knew this was going to happen eventually. “Will I get paid?”

Loki laughed. “Anthony, I’m paying you enough just by letting you stay here.”

“Aw, here I was thinking that you let me stay because I  _ intrigued  _ you. If I had known you were just trying to use me, I wouldn’t have come.” 

“Don’t pout. My employee will be back soon enough, and by then I’m sure you will have started your own business. You weren’t lying when you said you wanted to start one, right?” Loki said as he walked back over to the kitchen to deposit his now empty coffee cup, leaving a frozen Anthony sitting all alone, his mouth hanging open slightly. He had also forgotten about that statement he had so hastily made the night before about wanting to start up a business.

If he were to be honest with himself, starting a business or creating his own shop might actually help him along his path to working at Stark Industries. He would certainly have more credentials than he did now (after all, he had only been living on an island for the past seven years, not working at some tech place), which would give him a better chance at actually getting the job. So yes, he would be starting a business. Most likely an engineering or mechanic shop. Maybe he could sell parts? Or help repair them?

“No, I wasn’t.” Loki had returned for Anthony’s now empty cup, which he handed to him without a fuss. “I was thinking about starting a mechanic shop. You know, to help repair things? It could help me get some credentials so I can-”

Did he want to tell Loki about his plans? Could he trust him- no not trust him. Anthony is no longer capable of  _ trust _ . 

Loki was looking at him confusedly after Anthony abruptly cut off and didn’t keep speaking. Slightly shaking his head, he walked away, once again leaving Anthony all by himself on the chair. 

It’s for the best. Anthony shouldn’t reveal his plans too early. What if Loki also betrayed him and went to Obadiah to turn him in? What if he just outright killed him and gave his dead body to Stane as a token, a trophy to showcase the final defeat of the man who had once been Tony Stark? Stane would surely pay good money for that or at least for Loki to keep quiet about what he knows. And going by the state of the neighborhood in which Loki lives, Anthony is willing to say that the man needs it.

But Loki didn’t seem like the type of person to do that. Why would he help him only to betray him? Why would he be like Stane?

As Anthony got lost in his thoughts, Loki watched from afar, anticipating the inevitable uncovering of all his deeply buried secrets.

~o~

“His name is Bruce Banner. He used to be a scientist, but he experimented too much on gamma radiation. The government’s after him and he had to change identities many times already. He is quite the expert,” Loki said as they walked down the street. “Just a warning before you meet him: the gamma radiation that he was exposed to made him quite… volatile. The best way to describe him would be ‘insane’, although I know that you are not partial to the word.”

No, Anthony was not. It brought back too many memories, those of which he did not have the patience nor the emotional bandwidth to endure right now.

“I’ll try my best not to anger him.” Anthony had to speed up to keep up with Loki’s long strides. The taller man was walking leisurely down the sidewalk, and yet it felt like Anthony was running a marathon. He was by no means out of shape, quite the opposite actually as he had been working out ever since he got his mechanical limbs, but this ‘stroll’ seemed a little too fast-paced for him.

They had been walking for about twenty minutes now, dodging busy New Yorkers who were now on their way to lunch. It was around 11:30. Loki had said that getting the false identification completed would take around 30 minutes, which was just enough time for them to get back and open up the bar. 

“Alright, we are here.”

Loki stopped in front of an old and decrepit apartment complex covered in graffiti. The wooden door was practically hanging off its hinges and the windows were mostly peppered with holes. Not a great place to live.

Loki swung the door open, careful not to damage it anymore than it already was. There was a singular gloomy light illuminating the dark hallway once the door shut behind them, and Anthony could barely see as Loki made his way down the hall. The dark-haired man stopped at room number 14. The blue paint on the door was peeling off in huge amounts, exposing the brown wood underneath. Loki stepped forward in front of Anthony and knocked twice on the flimsy door, which shook like a leaf in the wind.

After about five seconds, there came a large clatter from inside the room, like the sound of pots falling to the floor. Thumping footsteps came closer and closer before they stopped abruptly. A slight pressure was applied to the door from the other end (Banner was most likely looking through the peephole) before it was swung open and a gun was pressed to Anthony’s forehead.

Anthony blanched and froze completely, staring at who had just opened the door. The man standing in front of him was  _ Bruce Banner _ . Of course! How had he not recognized the name? Bruce Banner, one of the leading radiation experts in the entire world! Bruce Banner, the man who Tony had wanted to work with on a new energy detector before Afghanistan… well, happened. 

But the man who had the gun pointed straight at his head was not the Bruce Banner he remembered. His body was angled inwards, like a man who had been hurt many times before and was afraid for it to happen again. His eyes were shadowed and haunted by who knows how many demons. The black hair on his head was now an unruly salt and pepper mess of curls, and there was uneven stubble on his chin. The impeccable scientist that Tony had so desperately wanted to meet was gone, replaced by this sad and miserable mock of a man.

“Calm down, Bruce. He’s a friend.” Loki placed a calming hand on Banner’s shoulder, slowly helping him to lower the gun. Bruce looked horrible, possibly worse than Anthony did, even with all his burns and scars. His skin was a sickly green color, the veins almost popping out from underneath.

“Why did you bring him here?” Banner hoarsely whispered, putting the safety back on the gun before throwing it haphazardly into the room behind him (totally safe). He shrugged away Loki’s reassuring hand before retreating into his apartment, leaving the door open for them to follow. Loki motioned to Anthony to stay behind him, which he was glad to do. He didn’t want to risk Banner recognizing him, which was always a possibility no matter how corroded his mind was.

“He needs your help with forging a new identity,” Loki replied as they entered what appeared to be Banner’s kitchen, where Bruce was picking up a multitude of pots and pans from the floor where they must have dropped when he ran to open the door. Banner let out a snort.

“Of course he does. What did he do? Murder a few people in Mexico? Break out of prison?”

Loki looked offended. “As if I’d associate myself with common criminals. Bruce, I thought you knew me better.”

“I wouldn’t say I knew you at all. Haven’t you been changing your name every ten or so years?” Bruce put the last pan in its place in the cupboard before turning around, his hands on his hips. Anthony was still placed behind Loki and his hair was purposefully falling in front of his eyes so that Banner would have a harder time recognizing him. 

Loki just shook his head at Bruce, not dignifying him with a response. Banner’s eyes flicked towards Anthony, looking him over. Anthony made sure to stand taller as the former scientist’s gaze darted all over his body. With a huff, Banner pushed past them and walked into the adjourning living room before plopping down on a broken yellow sofa that looked like a cat had been ripping it apart for years. Loki and Anthony followed, both of them choosing to stand across from Banner.

“Seriously. What’d he do?” Banner asked again. Anthony started to bite his lip as Loki tilted his head to the side to think. The bartender opened his mouth to speak, but Anthony beat him to it.

“I died.”

Banner sharply turned his head to peer curiously at Anthony. “Good enough.”

Suddenly he got up (he  _ just _ sat down) and walked to a table with drawers protruding from it. Shoving a couple of them closed, Banner opened the bottommost one, growled and tossed a book out of it before he pulled a large machine from it and settled it upon the table. He pressed a couple buttons on the outer layer of the machine, causing it to light up. While Banner was setting the machine up, Anthony picked up the book that he had thrown on the floor in his anger. 

_ The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. _

How odd.

“What’s your name?”

Anthony thought for a moment. He knew his first name, but his last? It could not be Stark, that was for sure. What was a common last name? Johnson? Smith? 

He suddenly thought of a story he remembered being told to Tony when he was younger about a betrayed barber and his thirst for revenge. Wouldn’t it be ironic if he chose the same surname the man from the story did? It would surely be tempting fate.

“Anthony Todd.”

Loki looked at him with a bemused expression on his face. Ah, Anthony had never shared a last name with him. But Loki hadn’t shared his either, so it was all fair.

Or maybe Loki had simply heard of the story as well.

Banner simply nodded his head, typing something on a keyboard that had popped out of the machine. “Middle name?”

Anthony though for a second. This one would not matter as much as the last name. Something simple then? “Christopher.”

“Date of birth?”

“October 17, 1974.” Yeah, why not play it off as being younger than he was. Tony had been born on May 29, 1970, which would make him about 45 years old now. Being born in 1974 would make him only 41. And the scars would help to hide his true age.

“How tall are you?”

Anthony pursed his lips. How tall was he? The last time he had measured his height was before Tony died, and he had been about 5’10”. He didn’t know if he grew.

“Um…”

Loki looked at him with a smirk. “I’m 6’4” so you’re about 5’11”.”

_ 6’4”? _ Seriously, Loki was that tall?

“Eye color?”

“Brown.”

“Where do you live?”

Anthony looked over at Loki questioningly. Loki rolled his eyes before saying, “315 70th Street, Unit 4, New York City, New York, 11207.”

Banner looked up. “Isn’t that where you live, Loki?”

“Yes, Anthony is sharing my apartment for now.”

Banner smirked before turning back to the machine. “How lucky of him.”

Anthony felt heat start to rush to his face. “It’s not like that-”

“He’s just trying to get a reaction out of you, Anthony.” Loki brushed a strand of his long black hair behind his ear before placing a gentle hand on Anthony’s shoulder. Surprisingly, Anthony did not flinch away, but instead  _ leaned in _ to the touch. Wow, after only less than a day, Anthony already felt more comfortable around Loki than Tony had around Obadiah even  _ before _ he betrayed him.

“I’ll be forging you a fake I.D. and a fake driver’s license, which I’ll put into the New York database as soon as I’m done.” Banner said as he typed away on the keyboard. “Just a few more questions and a picture and then we’re done.”

Anthony let out a relieved sigh. The sooner this was over with, the more at ease he would feel.

~o~

By the time Banner finished, it was already 12:30. Loki was in a rush to get out and on the way back to the bar, and Anthony was not against the idea. The entire time, Bruce had been staring at him oddly, the greenish tint under his skin never going away. Anthony couldn’t help but think that Banner had recognized him and was trying to figure out his previous identity. He didn’t want another person to figure out who he had been before, and he most certainly did not want it to be a crazy person who did.

If Banner found out, Anthony would have to kill him. And then steal the machine of course. It seemed pretty useful.

Also, the way that Banner stared at the book, with so much disdain and contempt, was extremely off putting.

“Thank you for your help, Bruce. I greatly appreciate it,” Loki said with a small smile. Banner merely grunted in acknowledgement, already closing off to them and entering his own world. 

Anthony held the two plastic cards that Banner had given him only moments before, both of them decorated by his very boring and normal picture in which his lips were barely turned up in a miniscule smile and his brown hair was covering portions of his eyes. One of them was a simple identification card for the state of New York, and the other was a driver’s license, which had been discreetly registered by Bruce in the database only minutes before. 

Anthony did not take his time on leaving the apartment, Loki following close behind. On their way out, Loki picked up the long forgotten gun and placed it gently on a table for Banner to see later on. That was nice of him.

As soon as they were on the street, Loki turned to him, a slight smirk on his pale lips. “Todd?”

Anthony sighed. Maybe Loki  _ did _ know the story. “Yeah?”

“Just seems like you’re trying to tell me something. Planning on cooking anyone into pies anytime soon?”

Anthony chuckled. “No, that’s your job. I just slit their throats.”

Loki gasped, looking offended, but his eyes were twinkling with humour. “Do I have to change my name to Loki Lovett?”

“No, because then you would have to fall madly in love with me and I would have to kill you as well.” Anthony chewed on his lips, glad that the conversation had not taken the more serious direction. The one where Loki would have questioned his plans and his motives based on his knowledge of the fictional Todd’s thirst for revenge. Maybe he should have gone with Dantès instead. Less people have read the Count of Monte Cristo, he would imagine. Ah, but then he would have to pretend he was French… 

Their conversation trailed off after that, both of them focusing on other things.

They reached the bar with barely enough time to open up before 1:00. Many of the tables were missing, so the remaining few were spread out in order to fill the open space. There were no blood stains and all the dust had been cleaned up last night. Basically, no evidence remained of their fight. No one would ever know what happened.

Anthony just hoped the men didn’t have obnoxious family members who would come searching for them.

Loki made Anthony wear a crisp white button down shirt and black pants, which was probably the uniform for the bar. Obviously, Anthony was given gloves to cover up his metal hand and black combat boots to hide his metal foot. Loki looked absolutely stunning in his own outfit, which was about the same but with a neat “Tricks and Drinks” scrawled in cursive where the breast pocket would have been. This was really unfair because Anthony looked like a drowned rat in the oversized clothing. At least the long sleeves covered up his scarred arms.

Speaking of scars, Loki had not made a single comment about the multitude of them covering Anthony’s body. He had been wearing a short sleeve shirt last night, so Loki would have been bound to notice them. Not only on his arms, but on his face as well. Why hadn’t he said anything? Anthony knew for a fact that anyone else would have asked. Well, except for Bruce anyways. Bruce didn’t count; he wasn’t fully right in the head.

That question would have to be solved later though, as Loki was making Anthony wipe down the tables before anyone came in and Anthony didn’t have any time to ask Loki about it. 

Since bars were mostly visited during the evening, only a few people came in. Anthony acted as waiter to those who wanted food, and Loki was the bartender as usual. The soft music was once again playing in the background, bringing up memories of last night’s fight to the forefront of Anthony’s mind. Every punch, every slash of his knife, every movement to dodge. Just thinking about it thrilled him and caused his heart to beat faster. He had enjoyed it, that was for certain. And he would do it again in a heartbeat. He would  _ kill  _ again in a heartbeat. If it meant getting rid of all the vermin that were smearing the streets of New York City, Anthony would do it.

He might have practice on doing that soon. By the time business started picking up and more people entered the bar, Anthony was ready to blow someone's head off. The customers so far had been rude and ungrateful for his service, and to make matters worse, Loki had barely talked to him the entire time. By now most of the people entering the building were heading to the open bar to get drinks from Loki and watch whatever was playing on the TVs behind the man, causing Anthony to be able to take a break and calm his turbulent emotions. He could feel his anger bubbling up, and it was getting increasingly harder and harder to hold it all back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two men enter the bar before quickly exiting, but in his anger, he ignored the unusual behaviour. Anthony started to chew on his lips frantically, cracking his knuckles and rubbing his hands together while breathing heavily. His muscles were starting to clench in anger, so he went and took a seat in the darkest corner of the bar he could find. 

Deep breath in. Flashes of Tony’s life darted in front of his eyes. Deep breath out. The people in the bar all started to morph into the ones who had betrayed him. Breath in. The old man sitting in front of Loki was now Obadiah, staring at him with delight at his misery. Breath out. The lady next to him was Pepper, crying and laughing in joy. In. The people started to close in on him and his jaw trembled as his pulse quickened. Out. Everyone was too close and the music was too loud and he hated everything and  _ too much noise _ .

Anthony ripped his gloved hands through his hair as he made a low growling noise in the back of his throat. Blinking furiously to erase the images from his mind, he darted through the swinging door that led to the kitchen of the bar. Fury was filling his entire body, and he couldn’t control it. What had brought on this outburst? A couple of rude people? Anthony was scared of how quickly he got angered. No, Anthony was not scared. 

_ Tony _ was scared. 

Because no matter how many times Anthony said that Tony was dead, he could not cover up the fact that Tony still existed  _ inside _ him. Tony was still there at the edge of his mind, trying to come back to the surface. Tony was his fear, his forgiveness, his patience, his  _ love _ . That is why Anthony was so angry all the time. Because he did not have the capacity for happiness. That side of him had been locked away when Tony had died- no not died, he had not died. When Tony had been  _ overthrown _ by Anthony and everything that had helped to make him. Anthony was the anger, the doubt, the betrayal, the hate, the thirst for revenge. The man sitting in the lonely bar kitchen was Anthony now, and he could not go back to being Tony. Tony was simply another mask, just like Anthony was. How he  _ hated _ masks. 

Anthony let out a dry laugh. It took him seven years to figure that out. Seven years.

How silly.

~o~

They made it through the day without killing anyone, which could be considered a disappointment. To Anthony at least. Loki was exhausted even though it had been a fairly slow day for business, and it was showing. He hadn’t even asked Anthony why he had stormed off to the kitchen halfway through the night, which was odd because when Anthony had come out to help once more, Loki had been staring at him with concern etched all over his face. Now that Anthony thought about it, Loki looked like he was too concerned. Almost like something happened while Anthony was away. Ah, who was he kidding, nothing could have happened.

After they had cleaned up after everyone had left, Loki trudged upstairs tiredly, his eyelids fluttering and his sad eyes gazing off to a far away place. Anthony wasn’t very far behind.

“Goodnight,” Loki said briskly. He was already stripping off his shirt and pulling his hair out of the graceful ponytail it had just been in. The man’s face was a mess of emotions, all of them extremely confusing to Anthony. He refused to be distracted by the uncovered skin and instead stomped right up to Loki with a glare.

“What’s gotten into you? We barely had any business today and you are acting like you just ran a marathon.” Anthony crossed his arms in front of chest, a scowl on his lips. Loki stiffened at his words and turned to face him.

“Nothing has “gotten into me”,  _ Todd _ . I am simply tired from a day’s work.” Loki closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, his face going from sad to angry to neutral. “Just leave me alone.”

Anthony would not be that easily swayed. The exhaustion that Loki was exhibiting was not merely physical, but emotional as well. “No. What’s going on? You weren’t nearly this tired an hour ago.”

Loki’s eyes seemed to erupt with a thousand emotions. “Do not presume to know my emotions, Anthony. You have barely known me for a day, and yet you pretend to be omniscient about my feelings. I will say this one more time:  _ leave me alone _ .”

Anthony could not feel compassion or sympathy for whatever Loki was going through right now, that was Tony’s job. He would keep pushing this.

“Oh grow the fuck up and tell me what’s on your mind.”

In less than a second, Loki had Anthony pressed against the wall by his throat, a snarl on his usually expressionless face. 

“ _ This  _ has been on my mind for the past few hours or so. You are infuriating. Could you not just leave me be? Of course not, you believe that you are the only one in the entire world who has ever experienced pain. Why do you think I keep changing my name? It is not for fun, let me tell you.” The pressure on Anthony’s throat was becoming too much and he was starting to lose vision in the corners of his eyes. “I am allowed to  _ feel _ , Anthony, and I am in no way obligated to tell you what it is that I am feeling. Now leave me be before I am forced to kill you.”

Just before Anthony would have passed out, the hand was removed from around his throat. Anthony slumped towards the ground, leaning on the wall for support as he greedily sucked air back into his lungs. Well that was unexpected. Loki had been so calm and collected over the past day; Anthony had never predicted that he could have such an angry and volatile side.

Ah, but hadn’t he watched Loki kill Aleck only last night? He had been so furious at the man before the fight started, Anthony could see it in his eyes. Loki certainly had the capacity for ferocity and intense anger.

There was a loud bang of a door slamming shut. Anthony looked up, still rubbing his bruising throat, and saw the bedroom door shut tight. So he would be sleeping on the couch tonight. Figures. Loki would not give him the privilege of using his bed after that debacle.

Sighing, Anthony slowly got up from his slouching position and peeled off his shirt and pants after removing his gloves and shoes. He had left his pajamas in Loki’s room, so he would be sleeping in only boxers tonight (the same boxers that Loki had so graciously given him before their meeting with Bruce today), which exposed almost every scar on his tormented body. Speaking of Bruce, the I.D. card and driver’s license Banner had given him were also in Loki’s room laying on the table next to the bed. How inconvenient. Anthony did not know the next time he would be allowed in Loki’s room.

Grabbing a blanket off the top of the couch and turning off the lights, Anthony crawled onto the cushions. Being careful not to move his neck around too much, he laid his metal hand on his bruising throat to cool it down. Closing his eyes, Anthony pushed away all his thoughts about Loki and decided to focus on the one thing that mattered most and was now like a comfort to him: revenge. His plan was not as well thought out as it could be, so in the darkness of the apartment Anthony calculated new points into the grand equation of his vengeance. He tried to manipulate his nagging doubts about how his plan could go wrong into confidence, because every plan had a few holes in it. This just meant his plan was as good as any other, right?

It was all a good distraction, as always. He almost managed to forget his little episode in the kitchen. To forget how easily Loki seemed to turn on him. 

But he couldn’t. 

Would he ever be able to hold any semblance of trust towards Loki?

Or, more importantly, his  _ own _ emotions?

Exhaling slowly and releasing all the tension that had worked itself into his body over the past few hours, Anthony slowly drifted off into a haunting sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, I’m so sorry for taking so long! I planned on trying to get this one out last week, but with all the crazy stuff going on in the USA, it didn’t go that way. Please excuse anything that sounded or looked rushed.
> 
> Heh, please also excuse the cringey conversation about Sweeney Todd :P no idea why I named him Anthony Todd, but oh well. Nothing I can do about it now. Sorry if some of you guys haven’t seen the movie or the musical (its really good, go check it out!)
> 
> And hey, Bruce is in this story! Yay! Is the Hulk in this one? Who knows? ;)
> 
> Anyway, as usual, please review, it would make my day!
> 
> Next chapter may take a long time as well :(


End file.
